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HONEYMOONING IN RUSSIA 




An Idyl of Little Russia 



HONEYMOONING 
IN RUSSIA 



BY 
RUTH KEDZIE WOOD 



With Numerous Illustrations 




NEW YORK 

DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 

1911 






Copyright, 1911, By 
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 

Published, October, 1911 






'CU297113 



To 

Philip 



CONTENTS 



CHAPTER 

I An Impromptu Wedding Journey 
II St. Izaak's and the Kazan 

III At the Tomb of the Tsars 

IV A Palace of Treasure and Tragedy 
V A Chapter of Outings .... 

VI The Penalty of a Snap-Shot 
VII A House-Party at Peterhov 
VIII A Morning in the Royal Nurseries 

IX A Day with Marie 

X Down the Volga to Nizhni Novgorod 

XI Yarmark Adventures .... 

XII Moscow and a Letter of Introduction 

XIII The Chatelaine of Shulov 

XIV For the Good of the Empire . 
XV The Widow Kirsanov's Lodgers 

XVI Comrades of a Revolutionist 
XVII Warsaw and Paris: Two Finales 



page 

1 

13 

24 

36 

50 

65 

88 

99 

116 

135 

161 

180 

205 

227 

242 

292 

320 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

An Idyl of Little Russia Frontispiece S 

FACING PAGE 

Paul, the First 8 V 

Peter, the Great 16 

Cathedral erected in St. Petersburgh in memory of 

Alexander II 26 V 

A Chamberlain to the Tsar 32 v^ 

Winter Palace, St. Petersburgh 40 v 

Tsarevitch Alexis 46 v 

Reproduction of an Izba, made by a Volga peasant . . 54 

" The Peasant Lovers," by Bekemichev 60 *■" 

" The Conquerors," by Vereschagin 70 u 

Our host at Cronstadt 78 «■ 

Selling homespun linen at a village fair 84 ^ 

Peterhov Palace . 90 ^ 

Where the Tsar feasts after the Coronation .... 96 L/ 
Arrival of the Tsar within the gates of Sampsonievsky 

Church, Poltava 104 

The Arab Captain 112 

Marie 120 

Market day at Vologda . 128 " 

A Steamer on the Volga 138 v 

Russian Farmers 146 i 

Nizhni Novgorod in Winter 154 ; 

A Tartar Pedlar 164 

The Chapel of the Iversky Virgin 172 

Birthplace of Gogol, near Janovstina 182 



Illustrations 

FACING PAGE 

Tsar Alexis Michaelovitch and Nikon at Tomb of St. 

Philip in the Cathedral of The Assumption, Moscow 190 
The Red Square, Church of St. Basil and Redeemer 

Gate, Moscow 200 

The Chateau at Shulov 210 

Liuba, in peasant dress 220 

Museum, Sevastopol 232 

Yalta 240 

The Widow Kirsanov and the batushka's daughter . . 248 

Darlings of the Tsar 258 

Villas overhanging the shore 268 

Medical School Buildings, University of New Russia, 

Odessa 278 

Kiev, Capital of the Cossack Kingdom 286 

Pechorskaia Monastery, Kiev 298 

The Theatre Square, Warsaw 306 l 

Hotel Bristol, Warsaw 316 

Lazienki Palace, Warsaw 328 

Memorial to Copernicus, St. John's Cathedral, Thorn . 338 



Cg3 - Cg3 $J 



o 



Chapter I 

AN IMPROMPTU WEDDING JOURNEY 

'NE day in June the library telephone summoned 
me. 

" Please pin on your hat and come down quick in a 
taxi," pleaded Philip. " I have a package of news to de- 
liver. Will you meet me at twelve? I am ordering lunch- 
eon for two at Carlin's.' , 

Of course I promised and ran upstairs to put on some- 
thing white and crisp. Of course, also, I prinked a mo- 
ment. Two more moments sped in gathering up gloves 
and sunshade and in leaving word for the mater. As my 
tardy cab approached Carlin's familiar glass portals I 
saw Philip glance at his time-piece. He held it up for 
me to see, but I was too wary to be thus convicted of 
feminine dilatoriness. 

" The news, the news," I cried. " Scold me after- 
wards ! " I could see by his face it was something I 
couldn't wait to know; but we were tucked into our fa- 
vourite corner and Gustav, the Sleek, had gone for our 
order of crab-meat canape and potatoes O'Brien before 
my curiosity was satisfied. " Well ? " I urged impatiently. 
Philip leaned towards me on his folded arms. His eyes 
shone with happy excitement. 

" You are going to be married to-day. That is half 
my news." 

"No?" I scoffed. "And to whom?" 

" To me," brazenly. 



2 Honeymooning in Russia 

I tilted my chin, though my heart thumped. " May I 
have the details? " 

" You may, my dear, for they comprise the other half 
of my news." His eyes brimmed with a look familiar 
enough of late. " And when I am done, please be a little 
kind." When he used that tone he was hard to resist. 

u I can't guarantee my mood. Begin." 

" Then be it known that I have just been appointed to 
the post of European manager of the Consolidated Steel 
and Wire, and that I do not propose to undertake my new 
duties alone. This is your pre-nuptial repast, my very 
dear. At dinner you may invite your family to meet Mr. 
and Mrs. Philip D. Houghton, who sail in the morning for 
Liverpool." 

" So you have turned pirate? " I parried. " Your 
methods are at least debut de siecle. You lure by tele- 
phone and bait with crab-meat canape." Phil's now serious 
eyes quelled my frivolity. I was only pretending anyway. 
" Is it permitted the captured maiden to have a few more 
particulars ? " I murmured, suddenly meek. The word 
" captured " seemed to encourage the dear bandit, and his 
face was happy again as he enlightened me. The cor- 
poration's manager abroad had cabled his resignation fol- 
lowing a disagreement over certain business transactions. 
" In recognition of proven faithfulness and ability " 
Philip, late sales manager, had been advised of his promo- 
tion. . . . This afternoon we were to be married. 
. . . To-morrow we sailed! In vain I implored a few 
days* respite. There was a vital matter awaiting adjust- 
ment at the London office and the first express steamer 
would take us to England none too soon. 

And so I agreed to end forever the sweet uncertainty 



An Impromptu Wedding Journey 3 

of the game we had played all winter. By telephone we 
summoned a few friends and a parent and sister apiece. 
A hastily procured licence, a short drive in a hansom, a 
few quiet words — and I had exchanged my own name for 
one far dearer. 

The Consolidated's president motored down to the dock 
early the next morning to speed us on our voyage. Mr. 
Houghton's presence would be required at the London 
office only long enough to attend to one matter of business, 
he assured us. Under the rather unusual circumstances 
attending his departure it was the company's wish that 
their European manager should feel free to assume his 
duties at his convenience. The great man threw me a 
smile. I sent one back. 

" He is an old dear, isn't he, Philip ? " 

" He is," assented my husband. 

Farewells were said — some teary, some merry. A last 
wave of my handkerchief signalled those fluttering on the 
pier. Less than twenty-four hours after our betrothal we 
had set sail upon our honeymoon. 

Two weeks later found us in London with the momentous 
business arranged and only the further plans for our 
wedding journey still unsettled. A desultory scanning 
of the Telegraph's shipping news suddenly decided us. 
" From London to St. Petersburgh by the Kiel Canal " 
was the magic sentence productive of much future interest 
and pleasure. We went to Fenchurch Street to engage 
our stateroom. We attended to our passport at the 
United States Embassy on Victoria Street, and had it 
vised at the Russian Consulate on Great Winchester 
Street. Only one passport was necessary for us both. 
All whom it might concern were adjured to " allow Philip 



4 Honeymooning in Russia 

Houghton and wife to freely pass," and then followed a 
detailed description of said Philip's features, age, and 
stature . . . grey eyes . . . black hair . . . 
straight nose . . . smooth- shaven . . . thirty- 
three . . . five feet eleven inches. 

We bought Baedeker's Russia in French, none being 
published in English. One or two cablegrams and a 
score of post-cards went to America with the announce- 
ment : " Sailing for Russia on honeymoon," which we 
congratulated ourselves sounded delightfully unique. Al- 
together, the excitement of doing the unusual added spice 
to the pleasurable preparation. 

We sailed down the Thames on July second, sole pas- 
sengers on the baby ship Zara, with a dear fat captain 
at the helm. (Phil says captains don't stand at the helm 
now-a-days, but the nauticality of the phrase appeals to 
me.) We crossed the North Sea and knocked at the gate 
of the Emperor William or Kiel Canal. German hands 
swung open the bars for our ingress, and German meadows 
drew away as we intruded upon their green peace. 

At Kiel, Germany's Hampton Roads, monstrous grey 
battle-ships glowered from the harbour. We stayed on 
the bridge till midnight to see the sun's afterglow fade 
in the west as the moon came up the sky in the east. The 
last gleam of sun-gold fell behind a cloud at exactly 
eleven-ten. 

We spent the following day in a ghostly mist. A 
light-house bell warned of the too-close shore and the cap- 
tain ordered the ship out to the open. At Riga we 
learned that a collier had gone down near us that night 
with all hands. Such tales are told with tragic frequency 
in Baltic ports. 



An Impromptu Wedding Journey 5 

Five days out we saw Finland's gloomy heights mar- 
shalled at the entrance of the bay which is St. Peters- 
burgh's front door-yard. From an island on our right 
Kronstadt's guns leered from gaping port-holes. 

Up the companionway bounded kodaking Philip, in- 
spired by novel opportunities for picture-making. The 
captain signalled frantically, motioning him back. " My 
dear young man, you are in Russian waters now. Put 
that box away until the police of Petersburgh give you 
permission to bring it out again." 

The captain had been running to Russian ports for 
thirty years and we did not delay in taking his advice, 
though we opined that a jaunt through Russia might 
have its drawbacks. 

Off Kronstadt the Zara's anchor rattled down and we, 
a little awed and slightly nervous, beheld a green and red 
line of officials ascend the gang-plank from a revenue cut- 
ter. Their dingy clothing belied the bravery of gilt trap- 
pings and silver badges. Pomp of official authority but 
scantily hid poorness of body and spirit. 

The captain spoke some Russian unintelligibles to a 
bearded Slav, who glanced at us and nodded. We were 
just two Americans come to see Russia, no baggage to 
speak of, perfectly harmless — the captain had evidently 
explained. Our passport was demanded and presented; 
our baggage opened and searched; the ship's hold ex- 
plored, and the hatches sealed. Then for an hour, about 
the long table in the dining salon, the Tsar's minions 
fumbled documents and mumbled reports. Philip began 
to fidget as, moment after moment, the men in bottle- 
green and scarlet discussed mysteriously in suppressed 
gutturals. The air was weighty with unasked questions. 



6 Honeymooning in Russia 

Was something amiss with our passport? Had we neg- 
lected a vital vise, or aroused suspicion by act or com- 
ment ? 

The captain smoking on the bridge had an air of un- 
communicativeness which chilled us. 

" Philip," I gasped, as I drew him around a cor- 
ner of the deck, " do you suppose they could deport 
us?" 

" I don't know, but that isn't the worst they could do." 
We sat down in our steamer chairs and waited, " as if for 
a summons," Phil recounted later, with a laugh. We 
searched our memories for some incriminating, though 
innocent, act of ours which might be the cause of the con- 
clave within. 

A tall man in visored cap and wrinkly boots came to 
the door and looked out. Others appeared behind him. 
Philip's hand stole over to mine on the chair arm. The 
captain was signalled and descended. The steely-eyed 
procession crossed the deck. More Russian conversation 
followed. Suddenly, papers being exchanged, hands were 
raised in precise salute and the whole lot clattered off to 
the gangway, leaving an aroma of leather, called Rus- 
sian, though often tanned in Leipzig. 

The skipper smiled and beckoned to us. I am sure he 
noticed my half-scared face. Phil took off his cap and 
brushed his hair free of his forehead with a gesture of re- 
lief. 

" Will you kindly tell us the object of this funereal 
performance, Captain Grant? " 

" Willingly, if I could. This is the Land of Lots of 
Time. The Russian's nitchevo rivals the Spaniard's 



An Impromptu Wedding Journey 7 

"And there is no other explanation for this racking 
delay?" 

" No, they go through the same farce every time we 
come to port. It is due partly to the Slavic love of form 
and official importance. That's Peterhov there on the 
right, where the Tsarevitch was born. You must go out 
to see the fountains play." 

But somehow the keen edge of our holiday enjoyment 
had been dulled. Neither of us confessed it in so many 
words, but a faint dread of the Unknown had usurped 
excited anticipation of the Unusual. Philip was staring 
through his field-glasses. Suddenly he gripped my arm 
and thrust them toward me. 

" There — to the left — those gorgeous domes ! That 
must be Petersburgh." A bright blue something caught 
my eyes, a glare of gold and a flash of Oriental red. 
Towers and crosses, spires and turreted domes reflected 
the noon sun. 

"It is Constantinople!" I ejaculated, "not St. Peters- 
burgh." And this, my first impression, was later con- 
firmed by the filigreed cornices, turquoise cupolas, and 
glittering lacy spires of the Orient which everywhere rose 
to Russian skies. 

Orientalism had also impregnated the street-cleaning 
department, we remarked as the Zara moved towards the 
docks and we descended to the filth and unevenness of a 
cobblestoned roadway. 

A dozen isvostchiks made a bid for our patronage. 
We chose the least decrepit vehicle in which to deposit 
ourselves and our luggage, and exercised our ship-learned 
Russian to direct the cabby to a hotel. As the drosky 
started forward, Philip poked me delightedly with his 



8 Honeymooning in Russia 

elbow, with unnecessary vigour, however, as I had already 
discovered the cause of his glee. 

Clucking Russian fashion to his small fast horse, guid- 
ing the backless little vehicle over jouncing stones, our 
Jehu loomed large before us. His back and hips meas- 
ured the width of the seat, spreading in obese volume to 
the very side-rails. On his head sat a squat hat. His 
hair and beard flowed in plethoric abandon to his shoul- 
ders and chest. Never had we gazed on so ample a figure, 
nor upon one so ludicrous. At that moment another 
drosky lurched by. Upon the box, shouting to another 
galloping horse, sat the twin of the creature before us. 

We scarcely saw the sights flying past, so intent were 
we thereafter upon the parade of our cabman's replicas. 
The hugeness of each one exceeded that of his predeces- 
sor, only to be surpassed by the next hirsute horseman. 
Meanwhile we grasped firmly whatever our hands touched 
for support, devoutly hoping for a somewhat safe arrival. 
A wheel grazed another whirling by. The small horse 
ran faster. A corner was safely manoeuvred, then an- 
other. At last a syllable and a jerk of the reins brought 
our steed to a sedate standstill at the porte cochere. A 
dvornik in bright red trousers and brighter blue tunic 
came out to take our bags. Philip recompensed the 
shaggy driver over-well, with tea-money added. As the 
porter had gone ahead and announced our nationality as 
other than Russian, a frock-coated courier immediately 
appeared, greeting us as Americans and speaking English 
the moment he observed the cut of our coats and boots. 

Our room on the bel etage, luxuriously furnished and 
pier-glassed, pleased us immediately. French windows 
opened upon a court where doves, symbols to the Russian 




Paul, the First 



An Impromptu Wedding Journey 9 

of the Holy Ghost, pecked at scattered grain. A stocky 
maiden brought brass jugs of hot water, and we made our 
toilet preparatory to a visit to the Chief of Police regard- 
ing our treasured camera. In the midst of our ablutions, 
a house-boy knocked and asked in German for our pass- 
port. Philip was loth to give up the precious document, 
but I had read my guide-book and knew what was re- 
quired of us. Until our departure from the city the im- 
posing parchment must remain with the police. - 

Another obese cabby piloted us to the door of Police 
Headquarters. A soldier, standing on duty at the en- 
trance, led us to a room where an officer was writing at a 
long table. Rising at our approach, he bowed, heels 
clicking formally. In German and some French we made 
known our errand. Thereupon he called an orderly and 
directed him to escort us up a half flight of stairs to a 
larger apartment. Here we waited while officials passed 
and repassed, glancing curiously at the two foreigners 
with the kodak. A brass-studded door opened to permit 
the egress of a magnificent individual in a silver-embroid- 
ered military coat. We saw behind him a roomful of 
men whose manner breathed importance and secrecy. An 
officer closed the door and came towards us. Philip stood 
up and repeated his story. I wanted to laugh; it was all 
so serious, and we had come merely to ask permission to 
photograph ordinary street sights \ Again we were con- 
ducted up a stairway and through a door. Explaining 
our mission to a subordinate, our guide in red-piped 
green, excused himself formally. Again we waited, to be 
addressed finally by one in civilian's clothes, slender, tall, 
brun, superb, who came from an inner room. Again we 
stumbled in French while Philip fingered the camera. 



10 Honeymooning in Russia 

Ah, he understood. It was to make the pictures, yes? 
We were tourists perhaps? The French of Paris, the 
voice of Italy, the manner of the Russian autocrat! We 
answered in awkward phrase. Then our interrogator 
smiled, hesitated, and said in idiomatic English : " Pos- 
sibly, Monsieur and Madame would find it more conven- 
ient to use their own language ? " After that it went 
more easily. Our names were taken, our business in- 
quired, our address given. Of course we expected to pay 
a ruble as fee and take our permit with us. 

" In two days, Monsieur and Madame, if you will call 
in person you shall receive the document." He smiled in- 
gratiatingly and held open the door. We made our good- 
byes and walked solemnly down the bare stairways. 

At the main door, a shackled boy was struggling and 
crying hysterically, as two officers stoically dragged him 
forward. Stories of Russian police methods came back 
to me, as we stood aside to let the three pass, and heard 
a door close upon the tragedy. 

Our cheery room seemed doubly bright after the glimpse 
of dreary walls and silent lips at Police Headquarters. 
I sat down on the edge of one of the silk-covered beds. 

" What do you suppose they were doing with that poor 
boy? He looked more like a student than a criminal." 

" Perhaps he was a student. Do you remember some 
of the tales Captain Grant told us? I thought my blood 
would never grow warm again. Remember that one of 
the bank clerk who was reported as having been seen to 
pick up a revolutionary pamphlet in the street? And 
how the police came at two o'clock in the morning and 
pounded on the house door until the man, who wasn't a 
revolutionist at all, had to go down and let them in? 



An Impromptu Wedding Journey 11 

They told him to put on his clothes and come, and he did, 
his wife and children crying all the time and begging the 
officers to let him stay till morning with them. The 
captain said three weeks later the man came into the 
bank and no one knew him; his face was like death; his 
voice cracked and old; his legs tottery. When, finally, 
he made them understand who he was, they asked him 
where he had been and what they had done to him. But 
he shook his head and closed his lips, and they knew he 
didn't dare tell them." 

I got up and began to dress for dinner, while Phil went 
down to change some British gold into kopeks and rubles. 
When he came back he was laughing. 

" Well, I've solved the problem of the fat cabmen." 

" You have? " 

" Yes, the son of Babel below (he meant the courier 
who spoke thirteen languages, including Dutch and 
Arabic) says it is good form for all coachmen in Russia 
to wear padded clothes. The richer the employer, the 
thicker the padding. What we marvelled at was not 
flesh, but cotton batting." 

" Well, in that case I should choose to be a poor Russ 
when I drove out, so that I might occasionally see beyond 
the mountain range on the box." 

We went down to dinner at seven. Vaguely we had 
imagined that we should subsist in Russia upon black 
bread, caviar, and tea a la Russe. Certainly we were not 
prepared for the rarely delicious dishes which succeeded 
each other throughout the seven or eight courses. 

A soup containing whole soft-boiled plover's eggs, fol- 
lowed spiced and salted hors d'ceuvres. Fresh sterlet 
came on with whipped sour cream. A roast of tenderest 



12 Honeymooning in Russia 

veal was trundled to us on an English joint table. Golden 
apricots with alisander salad were served after young 
broiled tree partridges. Then as a single course, new 
peas stewed in mint appeared in individual silver dishes. 
I was helping myself, rather liberally, to a pasty of wild 
strawberries, when I felt impelled to meet the gaze of a 
white-haired man, who with a lady perfectly gowned, sat 
at a near-by table. His eyes were turned our way with 
embarrassing intentness. I glanced at my husband, but 
doing in Russia as Russians do, he was sipping amber 
chai from a thin glass and had observed nothing. Our 
French-speaking waiter offered me some oddly wrapped 
sweets, which I munched, reflectively. My lord chose in 
silence one of those delightful Russian cigarettes. 

" How many miles are we from Carlin's, Philip? " 

" You are homesick ! " 

" Not with you here," I equivocated. Outside, the twi- 
light hovered still. 

" Shall we drive awhile before we go to bed? " 

" Let's," I assented. 

Once more I caught a glance from steel-grey eyes as 
we immersed finger-tips in fragrant water. Suspicion of 
my own innocence gripped me as on the ship when we 
waited. I recalled the captain's enigma of a smile when 
we had enthused over prospective Russian experiences. 

" Oh, there's lots to see, but you'll be glad enough to 
put foot across the frontier and breathe again ! " I be- 
gan to take a little stock in his prophecy. But why? 
And " why " it remained during several subsequent days 
in Mother Russia. 



& & 



Chapter II 

ST. IZAAK'S AND THE KAZAN 

J HE river Neva, twisting through the capital, offers 
an excuse for several bridges, most of which are of wood 
and are taken down in winter to be set up again in the 
spring. Little use for bridges when the Neva makes of 
itself a white highway for trams, sledges and pedestrians ! 
On its banks are Government buildings, palaces and in- 
stitutions, varying in interest from the Senate to the 
Foundling Asylum. 

The squares, adorned with commemorative statuary, 
were gay with band music as we drove over the Alexander 
bridge to the Islands of the Neva delta. We drove in a 
maze of light green woods, wide-porticoed homes, and 
restaurant gardens to the Point where the boats of the 
Yacht Club lifted gently on the rising tide. 

Returning along the arched allee of this aristocratic 
summer quarter we drew from imagination a probable 
winter scene among these merry islands. We heard crisp 
crunching of snow, quick trot of long-maned horses, light 
tinkling of troika bells, lilt of blithe voices. The cool 
air of summer twilight acquired for us the twinge of 
winter cold, and we conceived pelts of fox and sable 
shielding soft bodies. Eyes, glistening, answered other 
eyes; life throbbed and cheeks grew scarlet-tinged as the 
St. Petersburgh of Snowtime flashed by. 

" What hour of night do you suppose it is ? " I held 

up my blue watch. 

13 



14 Honeymooning in Russia 

" Ten o'clock ! I can't believe it." 

" I call it delightfully accommodating of Old Sol, this 
generous extension of sight-seeing hours, don't you?" 
Emboldened by Russian example, a tweed arm slipped 
from the back of the low seat to my waist. So we had 
seen dozens of grey-overcoated officers speeding through 
the dusk with the maidens of their summer choice. How- 
ever, I made a stand for the proprieties as we left the 
woodsy drives and crossed the river to the city streets. 
At the statue of Great Peter, which many think the finest 
of all equestrian bronzes, we almost ran down a ragged 
specimen, very drunk and singing joyously, doubtless in 
praise of the former contents of the bottle which he waved 
aloft. 

" Just a patriot assisting his Government to build a 
new battle-ship or buy rations for the army," remarked 
Philip, recalling the captain's statement that the Govern- 
ment supported its defenders almost entirely from the 
proceeds of its vodka monopoly. 

Doves courting brazenly on the window-sill awakened 
us at three o'clock: doves and glints of sapphire dawn. 
At four, breakfast sounds began to climb from the court. 
Someone was whistling — probably the air of a folk- 
song, I dreamily surmised. So interesting . . . na- 
tive music always characteristic of national temperament 
once read that most Russian tunes were minor. 
. A syncopated measure shrilled gaily from below. 
I sat up. Phil opened his eyes. " Do you hear what 
that fellow is whistling ! " we exclaimed simultaneously, 
and then laughed aloud as we recognised the too-long 
familiar tune. Someone was fluting entreaties to one 



St Izaak's and the Kazan 15 

William Bailey to return with expedition to his former 
habitation. 

I slipped from my bed to the casement and, peering 
down through the half-light, got a glimpse of the de- 
stroyer of sleep and illusions. 

It was Piotr shelling peas at the scullery door. 

Blue mists of daybreak faded to grey, and, in the pallid 
light, St. Izaak's gold dome shone gently luminous. As 
the sky grew saffron and rose, chiming cathedral bells 
melodised the cool air. Over the half-sleeping city 
breathed the Young Day. And it was the Sabbath! I 
asked Phil if he remembered, but got no response. Mor- 
pheus reigned again. Noiselessly I dressed, and left on 
the pillow a note : " I am gone, Lazy One, to say a 
prayer for you and me in the Cathedral of Gorgeousness 
near by. I shall return seichas." 

It was barely six as I merged into the stream flowing 
towards the great church. The portals, sentinelled by 
mammoth pillars of Finland granite, received the early 
worshippers as bells rang from the quartet of towers 
overhead. Within the edifice many hundreds were al- 
ready at their devotions, making ground reverences, 
touching their heads to the stone floor after the manner 
of the devout Russian. Shafts of malachite and lapis 
lazuli separated aisle from aisle and guarded the chancel 
steps. On swinging doors leading into saints' chapels 
and ante-rooms were religious paintings framed in silver. 
A thousand tremulous tapers glimmered from silver can- 
delabra, man-high. Before ikons blazing with brilliants 
and precious metals, more candles burned, some great, 
some small. From one hand to another these candles 



16 Honeymooning in Russia 

were passed through the dense crowd, with a whispered 
name of a saint and a request to place it before the proper 
ikon. Many times the original petitioner was lost in the 
kneeling, praying, crossing throng at the rear. The 
merchandising of candles at Russian shrine doors is a not 
inconsiderable source of revenue to the Greek Orthodox 
Church. It is a regrettable commentary upon the teach- 
ings of the church that many worshippers offer a candle 
and a prayer for assistance to an end of questionable 
righteousness. A thief or a tyrant seeks saintly inter- 
cession for the furtherance of his aims with a faith equal 
to that of a child or a madonna. 

As I stood by a pillar watching faces and attitudes, a 
man entered whose evening clothes showed under his over- 
coat. He purchased a good-sized taper and, crossing 
himself, gave it to the one just ahead, who passed it on 
its way. Perhaps, I thought, he has been playing all 
night and has come to ask heavenly aid in winning back 
at the cards he will play all day. He had been drinking ; 
his face was streaked with dissipation, but he went 
through the litany none the less devoutly, sparing no 
genuflection nor sign of the cross. Near him a workman 
prayed upon his knees, bending repeatedly to touch his 
head to the floor and muttering over and over one reso- 
nant phrase. White-uniformed soldiers, hairy isvostchiks, 
maids in high-crowned caps with heel-length ribbons 
rubbed elbows with shopkeepers and housewives. A 
choir of boys and men began to intone in voices liquid and 
vibrant. The people and deacons chorused antiphonally 
in stately chant. Through the Royal Doors in the centre 
of the ikonastas, or screen separating chancel from sanc- 
tuary, the celebrant was seen, moving amid a haze of in- 




Peter, the Great 



St. Izaak's and the Kazan 17 

cense. A white priest, with long soft-curling hair, passed 
among the congregation swinging his censer before the 
holy pictures. His robes were embroidered with verses 
in Old Slavonic, the language of the church, and out- 
lined with gems. Priests, choir, deacons chanted in turn 
the prayers, epistles and psalms of the Sunday service. 
A wave of tonal glory surged to the crest of the dome 
where a symbolic dove swayed from a cord. 

My aesthetic ego exulted in the beauty of the ritual and 
the splendour of the setting. . . . The priests vigor- 
ously chanted the benediction. . . . The music 
ceased. . . . The multitude arose, turned in one 
great mass to the doors, and passed through them to the 
sunny street. No religious exaltation illumined their 
countenances. . . . Stolid and apparently unmoved, 
they had risen from their knees. 

Through an alley of begging hands I went down the 
cathedral steps. My husband awaited me at the door of 
the hotel. It was just quarter past seven. 

" Either your sense of time or knowledge of Russian is 
at fault, Mrs. Houghton. Seichas is the term you em- 
ployed: ' I shall return seichas.' I looked it up right 
away in that List of Familiar Words and Phrases that 
boat fellow wrote out for us. Is this returning * im- 
mediately ' ? I've been up for hours." 

I ignored the exaggeration and led the way to the 
breakfast-room, suppressing my superior knowledge until 
we had ordered pots of caravan tea and brown rolls. 

" I am surprised at your ignorance, Philip. Trans- 
lated literally, seichas means ' within the hour,' and al- 
most within the hour I return. In this Land of Never 
Hurry they synonymise the two terms s immediately ' and 



18 Honeymooning in Russia 

6 within the hour.' Deliriously characteristic, it appears 
to me." 

" Did you keep your other promise ? " 

" Which? " 

" The one about praying." 

" Praying? " I echoed. Throughout that gorgeous 
ceremonial, how utterly I had forgotten to pray! 

We spent the long day hopping in and out of a 
drosky r visiting superb half -pagan temples, and marvel- 
ling at their eastern splendour. We were wandering 
through the Cathedral of Our Lady of Kazan, a feeble 
though far from ineffective copy of St. Peter's at 
Rome, when a young monk in a black wool robe ap- 
proached us. 

" If it is permitted, the pleasure would be mine to show 
the cathedral treasures to Monsieur and Madame." His 
manner was winningly childlike, and he was so evidently 
eager to do us a courtesy that we quickly accepted his 
offer and followed him to an alcove chapel, puzzled that 
he should address us in our own tongue. 

In the chapel, a railing of solid silver defended the al- 
tar. The golden garments of a life-sized image of the 
Virgin and Child were thickly overlaid with seed pearls. 
Protected by glass, an ikon of the Holy Mother was 
mounted on a low pedestal, and heaped with rings, 
brooches and pendants set with diamonds, pearls, rubies, 
emeralds and sapphires. These were offerings made by 
devotees on church days sacred to the Christ Mother, ex- 
plained the soft-voiced guide. 

" This Christ ikon has a story — one for which every 
true-hearted Russian blushes." And he began to tell us 
the story in his quaintly accented English, hesitating oc- 



St. Izaak's and the Kazan 19 

casionally for an elusive word, or appealing to us shyly 
when his memory failed him. 

A young prince who in other days had lived profli- 
gately forsook his ways and appeared every day at this 
shrine to kneel for long hours, kissing the jewel encrusted 
ikon of the Saviour. The devout mother of him gave 
thanks to God and the saints for the reclamation of her 
son's soul. For days his zeal did not abate. One even- 
ing, a verger, coming softly to place fresh flowers on the 
altar, found the prince kneeling at the foot of this ikon. 
He bent nearer to observe more closely his behaviour. 
Suddenly, a candle flaring, he saw what he was doing and 
understood why he had for weeks continued to pray with 
so great ardour. With his teeth, the prince had been 
loosening little by little a rare sapphire in the golden 
draperies of the holy picture. Even as the verger looked, 
the stone rolled from its setting into the mouth of the 
thief. When he rose to go to his waiting troika, the ver- 
ger had already called a gendarme standing in the cathe- 
dral porch, who arrested the perfidious one and took him, 
protesting, to Police Headquarters. In the office of the 
Chief, the jewel was found in his mouth, where he had 
thought it safely hidden." 

"And then?" we chorused, as the brother finished his 
uncanny story. 

" They cast him into the Fortress of Schlusselburgh, 
Monsieur and Madame. There may he languish forever 
in penance for his blasphemy ! " He crossed himself, and 
his lips moved, doubtless in prayer to be himself deliv- 
ered from temptation in time of trial. 

" I may take Monsieur to the robing-room, if Madame 
will permit us to withdraw," he hesitated. I gave prompt 



20 Honeymooning in Russia 

consent and they passed out to a room where, to quote a 
discourteous Russian phrase, " neither women nor dogs 
might enter." Standing by the silver chancel rail, I 
watched the multitude come and go. A quiet figure in 
mourning clothes came to pray and leave fresh candles in 
the tallow-dripped sconces on the altar. A cuirassier 
swaggered by in a yellow-trimmed white coat worn over 
dark green trousers. He knelt on the tiled floor of the 
immense church to pray, open-eyed. Andrei, come from 
the country in tulup and red sash, with blue baggy trou- 
sers tucked into tall boots, walked with his hand in 
Katiusha's. She was dressed in a Sunday cap of stiffly 
laundered linen and a short embroidered skirt and jacket. 
Her features were broad and plain, but comely with the 
consciousness of love. They wandered from ikon to ikon, 
making the sign of the cross with the thumb and first 
two fingers, the third and fourth being drawn into the 
palm. 

Middle-class mothers in thick commonplace gowns 
piloted proper little Vasilis and Domnas through the 
crowd assembling for vespers. 

A fat officer from the Baltic provinces moved ponder- 
ously toward the door, his features too Teutonically in- 
clined to admit of a mistaken guess as to his forebears. 
In the porch he joined a pretty Russian demoiselle, and 
they went off together, his grey overcoat striking against 
his shiny heels. The evening service had begun before 
My Dear returned with his monk. In his eyes I saw the 
reflection of the glittering treasures he had seen. I 
smiled at his enthusiasm. 

" There were vestments literally hemmed with gems, 
the kind Rajahs wear to the photographer's," he eluci- 



St. Izaak's and the Kazan 21 

dated. " And chalice cups of hand-worked silver, and 
mitres of fur and enamel steep with jewels, and staffs, 
and censers, spears and spoons, patens, penagias and 
pectoral crosses, heavy with gold and diamonds. A 
' white priest * unlocked a case and showed me a Bible 
with gold covers thickly set with rubies — pigeon-bloods. 
. . . But I only half enjoyed it all," he flattered, 
" with you not there." He squeezed my hand under the 
very eyes of a painted saint on the wall. If it had been 
the presentment of a " pope " I should not have been so 
embarrassed, since, of that branch of the church, marriage 
is not only not forbidden, but required. 

The Cathedral of Our Lady of Kazan is named for a 
holy picture of the Virgin which escaped miraculously a 
devastating fire in Kazan, and was brought to Peters- 
burgh. The ikon itself, framed in pearls and other gems 
valued at $75,000, is set into the ikonastas, with the name 
of Jehovah in flaming stones above. The screen, or ikon- 
astas itself, is of silver, made from the precious plunder 
carried away from Moscow by Napoleon's marauders. 
It was later recovered by avenging Cossacks and offered 
to Our Lady of Kazan. This church, the seat of the 
Metropolitan of St. Petersburgh, is the new capital's 
thank-offering for the defeat of Napoleon. Here the 
Imperial Family come to give thanks for any special 
providence. Keys and banners of Turkish and Persian 
wars are hung upon the pillars. It is, next to St. Izaak's, 
the most magnificent church in Petersburgh. 

Under the pergola which half circles the plaza, we 
stopped to say good-bye to our guide. His modesty and 
kindness had won us both, though we had been taught not 
to think overwell of the typical Russian " blacks." 



22 Honeymooning in Russia 

" Won't you tell us where you learned our language ? " 
I ventured. " Here in Russia? " 

" No, Sudarynya." Memory misted his placid eyes. 
" Not in Russia, but in New York, where for three years 
of happiness I was permitted to serve the Bishop, when 
the Orthodox church was on Second Avenue." 

" Second Avenue ! " The name was ludicrous with the 
Nevsky at our elbow. 

" So you know America ! " Philip exclaimed. " What 
did you find there to admire?" The black priest's eyes 
still held a shadow of Other Days. 

" To admire, Monsieur? Ah, the things I remember 
best of America are not to admire alone, but to love, to 
love ! " His voice was tenderly reminiscent. Then his 
eyes and voice awoke. He glanced quickly about the 
portico and leaned a little towards us, speaking with 
hushed earnestness. 

" I found my people free to live, to learn ; free from 
suspicion, superstition and slaughter; free to live less 
like beasts in their stalls, more as live other creatures of 
God. Ah, my poor people of Russia ! " he breathed. 
" My gasping, struggling, bleeding Russia ! What shall 
the end be ? For what may we hope ? " 

A long-haired priest, hatless and white-robed, came 
along the almost deserted archway and looked curiously 
at us. The Brother started as if someone had called, 
and became again the unimpassioned soul of gentleness. 
I was near to tears. Philip put out his hands and, half 
timidly, the monk gave him his. 

" I have said rash words perhaps, Monsieur. In this 
land one may not speak his soul. When I remember the 



St IzaaVs and the Kazan 23 

America for which I am always yearning, I forget the 
Law of Silence." 

He stood under the portal looking quietly after us as 
we crossed the square to the teeming Nevsky. The same 
thought possessed us both. What were the bonds which 
held these people, if to this man of God the hordes of New 
York's east side seemed, in comparison, creatures of for- 
tune and happiness ! 



® 



Chapter III 

AT THE TOMB OF THE TSARS 

A^HILIP, the resourceful, had invented a mode of com- 
municating with the droskymen which worked admirably, 
and which I herewith recommend to subsequent sight- 
seers who are as unfamiliar with the speech of the coun- 
try as were we. From dozens of post-cards illustrating 
Petersburgh's attractions, we selected a goodly number 
with the advice of a genial shopkeeper. Before enter- 
ing a drosky, we would display to Vanka certain cards 
and demonstrate our desire to be driven to the objects of 
interest thereon depicted. The interrogation, " Skolko ? " 
(How much?) would result in perhaps three raised fin- 
gers, indicating a like number of rubles, or fifty-cent 
pieces. According to honoured custom, the tariff then 
would be discussed, and finally gesticulating that it was 
exorbitant, we, having learned our lesson from the courier, 
would show ourselves ready to receive the offers of the 
ever-present assemblage of rival horsemen. At this junc- 
ture Philip would proclaim with almost profane empha- 
sis, " Ya belshoi needam ! " a phrase of which he was 
very fond, though its meaning was innocent enough, " I 
will not give more." 

Seeing the threatened possibility of losing a fare to a 
brother driver, our disputant would instantly pursue, im- 
ploring, " Isvolti, pajaluista " (Come back, if you please), 
with an expression so effective that we rarely failed to be 

moved, and in the end we would usually embark flushed 

24 



At the Tomb of the Tsars 25 

with a victory of a finger and a half. I found the hag- 
gling always amusing. Not an isvostchik in Muscovy 
expects his original asking-price. He intends eventually 
to carry you for half or a third the sum which he asserts 
in the beginning to be preposterously cheap and immov- 
ably fixed. " Yay-ee-bo-goo ! " (God is my witness!) he 
swears, " No man could do it for less." This with the 
air of one whose decision, attained only after just con- 
sideration, is unalterable. At first, the stolidity of his 
position almost convinces. Then you recall the strain 
of Orientalism in each true Russian, and the (expected) 
bargaining begins. Finally, you win, apparently. In 
reality, your cocher has agreed to drive you for the fare 
settled in his own mind when the question " Skolko ? " was 
first propounded. 

The tariff for a Petersburgh public cab is thirty cents 
an hour. I feel justified in asserting that the horse of 
flesh will, in that hour, cover more ground than would an 
average iron horse of the Imperial Russian Railways in 
the same length of time. Vanka's horse is strong, swift 
and sure. He drives himself, nosing his way through 
complications of traffic confusing to a head less wise. 
His forebears were bred from Dutch and Arabian stock, 
his sponsor being Orlov, the count whose interest in re- 
deeming the puny native breed has resulted in the pro- 
duction of the fastest and hardiest of all cab horses. 
Heedless that his " fare " is often paying " by time," 
though sometimes " by the course," unlearned in the 
otherwise universal ruse of restraining his steed accord- 
ingly, the Russian cabman spreads wide the worsted reins 
wrapped about his wrists, and shouts with vigour to the 
willing animal, which bounds over the cobblestones, and 



26 Honeymooning in Russia 

tears around corners until the drosky's startled occu- 
pants poke the formidable back, and gesticulate, " Less 
speed, if mercy dwells within you ! " This, in the case of 
foreigners. For the Russian, the faster the better. 
Aside from endangering our necks, our desire to lose 
nothing of the street sights was frustrated by these mad 
dashes along the Nevsky, or the Znamenskaia, or the Bol- 
shaia Morskaia. 

" We drove out to observe life, not to establish a record 
for cab horses," as Philip remonstrated. Following a 
generous prod in the back of his ample blue armyak, 
Johnny (English for the generic " Vanka") would screw 
half way around with a questioning stare. These for- 
eigners were curious folk, but he would be indulgent if 
their wants were not too preposterous. Philip's panto- 
mime of slow-walking fingers usually conveyed the idea. 
"Da, da," the good-natured fellow would affirm, and for 
a few minutes the gait would be less strenuous until the 
horse took things into his own hands again. During an 
hour's drive this pantomime would be repeated perhaps 
a dozen times. Then we discovered the word tishe (drive 
slowly) and substituted that for the sign language. But 
no matter what the method we employed, rarely did we 
drive slowly enough in Russia to suit our sight-seeing 
tastes. 

The day was gloriously warm and sunny, and we were 
about to make a pilgrimage to the shrines of Peter the 
Great. We had lunched early, since we had breakfasted 
not at all. To the appetising zakuska of raw fish, 
smoked goose, and onion; to the iced soup; the broiled 
grouse and salty cucumbers, we had done flattering jus- 
tice. Nor had we slighted the fresh mushrooms and 




Cathedral Erected in St. Petersburgh in 
Memory of Alexander II 



At the Tomb of the Tsars 27 

the pineapple morojennoye. Over glasses of lampopo 
we had planned the excursion to scenes associated with 
the life and death of the Enterprising Tsar. 

The curb was hemmed with a line of droskies, and Philip, 
hailing the head of the cab-rank, produced a post-card 
and stammered, " Petropaulovski Sobor " ; but the inquiry 
"Skolko?" was scarcely put when the cabman addressed 
was signalled and beckoned away by a smart-looking in- 
dividual in uniform who leaned indolently against a pil- 
lar of the porte cochere. The interference was so un- 
doubtedly intentional that we stared at the intruder in 
astonished indignation. Ignoring us, however, the officer 
proceeded to his bargaining, and we were left to the sec- 
ond in line, a big Jehu with an eye too shrewd for an 
everyday isvostchik. He perceived our wishes with re- 
markable celerity, and we were on our way with fewer pre- 
liminaries than usual. Philip looked annoyed, and I 
slipped a hand within the bend of his elbow. " Nitchevo," 
I whispered. " Let's forget it." But I knew the crux 
of his vexation lay in the fact that ignorance of the Rus- 
sian tongue had cheated him of satisfactorily expressing 
himself to the impudent officer in the showy uniform. 

As I whispered, I saw an ear turn ever so slightly my 
way. But how could a shock-headed cabby understand 
any syllables spoken in a foreign tongue? We were 
quite silent as we drove up the Nevsky Prospekt. Blue, 
orange, terra cotta, and salmon-pink buildings stretched 
for three miles along the great avenue, which is 114 feet 
wide, almost equalling in breadth the main streets of Salt 
Lake City. Imposing banks and bazaars neighboured 
smaller establishments on either side of the street, which 
was filled with traders, promenaders, Slavs, and Tatars; 



28 Honeymooning in Russia 

merchants and muzhiks ; clerks and officers, civil or mili- 
tary, though all in uniform; messengers, maids and sol- 
diers. In a general's carriage a black man well-accoutred 
consorted jovially with his military brother. To us bred 
in the United States, it was an odd sight, but one not un- 
familiar to frequenters of London or Paris or The Hague. 
The traffic, which was considerable even though it was the 
heart of summer, was capably handled by the politsia 
who were stationed at each crossing. They were invari- 
ably fine-figured men, immaculately groomed from the 
top of their smart caps to the toes of their tall shiny 
boots. More like field marshals than policemen, we 
thought them, especially when we espied the numerous 
medals pinned across the breasts of many. 

Occasionally, a lady, come in from her summer estate 
for a day's shopping, would emerge from the lafka of a 
bowing merchant, followed by an attendant with bundles 
which were placed upon the luxurious seat of her kareta. 
Since the thickness of his padding exceeded that of the 
public cabmen, her Tatar coachman was called a kutscher, 
and drove his long-tailed horses with proportionate eclat. 
Up the avenue, black balls dropped into place upon a fire 
watch-tower, and the resulting clatter of carts and engine 
sent ordinary vehicles scurrying to the side of the road. 
With more expedition than we should have prophesied for 
a Russian Fire Department, the apparatus came swing- 
ing across the avenue and down towards the Neva, leav- 
ing the wake of excitement beloved of small boys the world 
over. The tall small boy at my side was for following 
immediately, but the peroulok, or side street, was already 
guarded. However, we saw the fire from the Troi'tska 
bridge, and thought the blaze was scarcely worthy the 



At the Tomb of the Tsars 29 

bustle. Firemen scrambled to the roof and shouted or- 
ders and reorders with no apparent decision as to the 
necessary course of procedure. The pompous chief 
seemed to be little regarded by his flustered assistants, and 
on the whole we thought it a fair example of Russian in- 
competence in time of stress. We caught a glimpse of 
penates being thrust upon the sidewalk, and of the 
owner's excited gesturing. But soon the neighbours be- 
gan to move the furniture all back again; the lusty fire- 
fighters climbed to earth, and the comedy was done. 

The Petropaulovski Krepost, or Fortress of Sts. Peter 
and Paul, is used as a state prison. As we drove along 
the river-bank, we conjectured as to which of the barred 
windows had been that of Peter the First's son, the 
murdered Alexis ; which the Decembrists' ; which Sophia 
Perovskaia's ; which Stoessel's. Out of crumbling ports, 
cannon noses pointed down the river, the enemy of whose 
inundating approach they are now used to warn the 
marshy city. 

Within the Peter-Paul Cathedral, the walls are over- 
laid with keys and banners of captured cities and regi- 
ments ; and scores of silver wreaths commemorate those 
who fell in the service of a Peter, a Catherine, a Nicholas, 
or an Alexander. While our isvostchik waited, we made 
the rounds of the royal tombs and counted one for each 
Gosiidar since Alexis, except the Second Peter, who, 
smitten with smallpox in Moscow, died and was buried in 
the old capital. A gold wreath, a double eagle, and an 
ever-burning light distinguish the tomb marking the rest- 
ing-place of each Emperor and his Empress, whose bodies 
lie beneath the cathedral floor. Near the chancel, a 
throne hung in embroidered crimson indicated the seat 



30 Honeymooning in Russia 

of the imperial pair at services for the dead. Recently 
they had sat under the brilliant canopy at the funeral of 
a Grand Duke. 

All we knew of those who had ruled and misruled 
Russia during the past two centuries came back to us as 
we stood within the Russian Pantheon. Here, beside the 
First Peter, lay the plain-faced but congenial Martha Sav- 
ronskaia, former domestic in the house of a Lutheran 
minister of the Baltic provinces, whom Peter married 
when she was still the wife of a dragoon and his own wife 
was imprisoned in a convenient convent. Vice the former 
empress, he set her upon the throne beside him and called 
her Catherine the First. She did not oppose his am- 
bitions and thereby proved herself more politic than the 
mother of Peter's son Alexis, and more so than Alexis him- 
self, whose anti-western obstinacy cost him his life at the 
instigation of his father, who had no more conscience in 
this respect than had Ivan the Terrible. 

Anne and Elizabeth inherited some of their uncle's and 
father's energetic qualities and all of his pernicious ones. 
Their irregular lives would have horrified a less immoral 
court. Elizabeth, who wanted the throne which rightly 
belonged to the infant Ivan VI, imprisoned him and his 
parents. He was a forgotten prisoner at Schliissel- 
burgh, taught to read by a warder, ill-fed and half an 
imbecile. 

Peter III was so unfortunate as to have had for his 
wife Catherine the Monster, called Catherine the Great. 
She had ambitions also, and because of his scandalous 
habits she came to hate him and was happy in finding at 
her hand lovers who were not squeamish about staining 
their hands with blood. So Peter was strangled and 



At the Tomb of the Tsars 31 

buried in the Alexander Monastery cemetery. Later, the 
Emperor Paul I, who was known as his son, ordered the 
body disinterred and laid in the Peter-Paul Cathedral. 

Catherine was crowned Empress. She wrote plays, 
corresponded with Voltaire, instituted theatres and schools 
and patronised the arts. But she was not too busy to plan 
the murder of the inoffensive Ivan VI, whom her dead 
husband had been inclined to befriend, nor to interfere 
with the happy domestic life of her son Paul and his 
lovely wife, Natalia. By Peter III she had never had a 
child, but before his death she became the mother of Paul 
I, whose father was a courtier named Salytov. Catherine 
was a German duchess, Paul's father, a Russian com- 
moner. There was not a drop of Romanov blood in his 
veins nor in those of Peter III, his pseudo-father. The 
Romanov dynasty ended with Peter the Great's grandson, 
the youth who died in Moscow. 

Nicholas II is the great, great, great grandson of Cath- 
erine II and her lover. To claim Michael Romanov as an 
ancestor of the present Tsar is a perversion of genealog- 
ical facts. Paul initiated his reign with some good re- 
forms, but certain erratic tendencies grew into madness. 
His subjects were often amused as well as terrorised. 

" Did you ever read," said Philip as he traced the Sla- 
vonic characters which denoted Paul's tomb, " that funny 
story about the regiment which had displeased him? He 
commanded them to appear before him, and when he had 
reviewed them, he gave the order : ' March ! — to Siberia ! ' 
And so they all started on the long trek. But before 
they had gone many versts a messenger from the repent- 
ant Emperor recalled them." 

Paul was named " the Prohibitive," because he was so 



32 Honeymooning in Russia 

insanely fond of forbidding. The court and the people 
finally lost all patience with his feeble-minded vagaries. 
Three midnight assassins made an end of him in his bed- 
chamber, where he made a hopeless struggle for his life. 
He had refused to sign away his right to the throne in 
favour of his conniving son, Alexander I. 

Alexander's life was tainted with melancholy, possibly 
the fruit of remorse. He dreamed of great deeds but he 
accomplished little. Toward the end of his rule his 
crown grew very heavy. He spoke of making his brother 
Tsar in his place, so that he might dream unmolested. 
He was in a town some distance from Petersburgh when 
his death was announced. There is a tomb in the Peter- 
Paul church marked with his name; but many believe that 
it is not he, the Emperor Alexander himself, who lies 
there. In far-off Tomsk the occasional visitor is shown 
the house and grave of a hermit, who came mysteriously 
to the Siberian town and who lived there unattended and 
unvisited until he died. When the young man who is 
now Tsar, made an eastern journey before he was 
crowned, he went out of his way to see the home and 
burial-place of Fomich. The supporters of the theory 
that the hermit was the wearied Tsar have an array of 
corroboration almost convincing. 

" If it's true," said Philip, " his good sense was com- 
mendable. He accomplished nothing worth while as a 
Tsar. I should like to think that he was blessed by be- 
ing permitted to spend his last years as a plain man." 

His brother, Nicholas I, inaugurated his heartless reign 
with the barbarous massacre of the Decembrists in the 
Senate Square. About the camp-fires of the defending 
army during the war with Napoleon many sons of Russia 




A Chamberlain to the Tsar 



At the Tomb of the Tsars 33 

had discussed the vital topic of her ailments and possible 
cure. The organisation later known as the United Slavs 
grew out of these earnest discussions, and its membership 
included the noblest, worthiest names in the land. When 
the death of Alexander was announced and there was a 
delay in proclaiming the new Tsar, the opportunity 
seemed ripe for the revolt against absolutism, long 
planned and hoped for. 

But the golden moment passed in inaction, indecision, 
incompetence. Before the bayonets and guns of Nich- 
olas, whose imperial rights they had assembled to con- 
test, the Decembrists were mowed down like grain. 
Those who escaped immediate death were exiled, or hanged, 
or tortured later. Forty-two went mad within the prison 
walls of the Peter-Paul fortress. Blood flowed for the 
next few years as it flowed during the rule of the Ivans 
and Peter the Great. Benkendorf established the Third 
Section, the Secret Police of Russia, who recognise no 
law, who may arrest, convict, condemn without proof and 
without trial. 

There is good reason to believe that Nicholas, like his 
brother, wearied of his existence, and that he poisoned 
himself. 

His son, the Second Alexander, released groaning Rus- 
sia from many of the bonds with which Nicholas had 
weighted her. Perhaps out of motives of self-preserva- 
tion, certainly with some notion of doing tardy justice to 
the twenty million slaves who had worn their chains since 
the days of Boris Goudonov, he became their emancipa- 
tor. The war with England, France and Turkey in the 
Crimea had ended badly for Russia. Her debt was enor- 
mous. It was imperative that she borrow money. For- 



34 Honeymooning in Russia 

eign nations, horrified at her treatment of the serfs, were 
disinclined to lend any financial aid until conditions were 
bettered. Therefore, some say, Alexander gave the serfs 
their freedom. It would be pleasanter to believe he did 
it because he was moved by human, natural motives, too 
rare in Russian imperial characters. At any rate he 
did safeguard their land provision. One hastens to 
record the smallest good deed of a Muscovy Tsar. 

Because the conditions under which they were living, 
and under which many generations of their ancestors had 
lived, had finally grown to be insupportable, the youths 
of the land began to protest, frequently with bombs in 
their hands. Alexander's life was attempted seven times 
before the March day in 1881 (it was the thirteenth!) 
when Sophia Perovskaia let her handkerchief fall at the 
approach of the Emperor's carriage, with fatal results. 
As the Tsar fell in the snow, mutilated and bleeding, he 
spoke only a sentence, " Is the Tsarevitch unhurt? " Re- 
assured, he died uncomplaining. 

During Alexander Third's life the spirit of revenge for 
wrongs, centuries old, continued to sweep the high places, 
and many great ones fell. Alexander, in hourly terror, 
hid himself behind a barrier of police and soldiers. But 
he could not live without eating, and in order to dine 
cooks were necessary. Travelling home from the south 
by royal train, the lunch hour arrived. Suddenly a pas- 
try cook fell ill. There was no doctor aboard. The 
train was graciously stopped and the man was put off 
at a station where he could be treated. The engine had 
scarcely gotten under way, when a master specimen of 
cake-making blew up, and with it, very nearly, the Im- 
perial Family. Inside the cake, a well-timed bomb had 



At the Tomb of the Tsars 35 

been substituted for sugar and flour. The ailing cook 
was the maker. Though the Tsar was not killed, he 
never recovered from the experience, and his death a few 
years later was undoubtedly hastened by it. 

From the time of Catherine II, three Tsars were mur- 
dered; one is said to have poisoned himself, and one died 
from the shock of attempted assassination. Of six Em- 
perors, only one, Alexander I, may be said to have died 
a natural death. Not agreeable history for Nicholas II 
to contemplate. 

Russia has lived its centuries in the shadow of a royal 
family tree whose diseased roots and blighted sap have 
borne their natural fruit. 

" And the tree has not ceased bearing," added Phil as 
we made our way to the door. 



Cg3 £J3 * 



Chapter IV 

A PALACE OF TREASURE AND TRAGEDY 

1 the little wooden church, near the fortress, which 
was consecrated by Peter the Great in 1710, it is the 
favourite custom of the Orthodox to repair to offer their 
petitions for a safe journey. To St. Izaak's they go for 
comfort; to the Kazan to ask a blessing upon business 
undertakings; to the Preobraj ensky to pray for the sick; 
to the Peter-Paul Sobor to be joined in matrimony. As 
we entered the insignificant frame building, called Peter's 
church, we thought it had been most appropriately chosen 
as the shrine of travellers, for where in Russian chron- 
icles will one find a more inveterate wanderer than Peter 
himself? To Holland, to England, to France and to 
Germany, to Archangel, to the Crimea, and back to 
Petersburgh — his journeyings were the despair of his 
less energetic attendants. 

Within the chapel we pictured him, enormously tall and 
fierce-featured, reading the service as was his custom 
upon each anniversary of the battle of Poltava. A man 
of monstrous contradictions — utterly regardless of his 
moral obligations, but never-failing in his observance of 
church form, and rites ! 

In the three-roomed cottage which served as the first 
Imperial Residence in the new capital we saw the cele- 
brated boat which Peter modelled and tooled. From 
this seed sprouted the Russian navy. 

" Such as it is and has been," commented my husband. 

36 



A Palace of Treasure and Tragedy 37 

" But Russia's new ships, Philip — isn't it true that 
they are to be splendidly modern in construction and 
armament? I look upon you as a dependable authority 
on such matters." 

" Your confidence is flattering, my dear. It is a — " 
I did not hear the end of the sentence, for I had discov- 
ered our Vanka kneeling just behind us. To all appear- 
ances he was praying to a wonder-working ikon, and yet, 
I fancied he was not entirely engrossed by his devotions. 
That absurd suspicion again! How could our casual 
conversation interest a grimy isvostchik, even if it were 
intelligible to him? 

" This light is just right for an exposure," remarked 
Philip as we came out of the ex-palace. He stepped back 
a dozen yards and stared into the finder. The cabman, 
emerged from his prayers, sat down on the step of the 
drosky. 

" How many feet should you call it to the fortress? " 
consulted my spouse. 

" Now, Philip, you know I can't guess distance." 

" Well, I'll set it at a hundred." He had adjusted the 
focus and his hand was hovering over the bulb, when he 
looked up with a frown and closed the camera with an 
exclamation of impatience. 

" What do you suppose I've done ? " he propounded. 
I guessed, and guessed correctly. He had come off with- 
out loading the kodak, so that it was, for the time, a use- 
less appendage. We had already lost three days wait- 
ing for our permit, and I am afraid I said something 
cross about " thoughtlessness " and " wasted opportuni- 
ties." Anyway, Phil looked hurt, and I was sorry in a 
minute, and said so. Little did we know how unpleas- 



38 Honeymooning in Russia 

ant an experience his f orgetf ulness had postponed for us ! 

Down the quay we drove towards the Hermitage and 
the Winter Palace, still bent upon our pilgrimage to the 
shrines of Peter. 

" Lucky we!" I remarked. " According to our cal- 
endar, the galleries are closed for the summer; but by 
Russia's ' old style ' reckoning we have two days of grace. 
We shall need those two days and more to see its treas- 
ures." 

" It's a good thing we were advised in time about se- 
curing our embassy permit to enter the palace." I 
turned and stared sharply at my husband. 

" Philip Houghton, you haven't by any chance — ?" 

"Forgotten said permit? No, my love. It resteth 
with other hieroglyphic documents granting us official 
privilege to eat, to sleep, to get up, and to lie down 
again." Out of his pockets he brought various papers, 
and we tried to decipher them. But the S's seemed to 
be C's, the V's invariably F's, the H's all G's. As the 
alphabet contains no letter H, our name degenerated into 
Gouggton, and Gouggton we were usually called by our 
chance Russian acquaintances. I had learned a few 
words of the language under the tutelage of the Russian 
cabin-boy on the Zara, but its abcedary mazes were still 
far beyond my ken. I quoted from my note-book: 



Thirty-six letters in alphabet 



Eleven vowels 
Three semi-vowels 
Twenty-one consonants 



Derivation 



Hebrew 

Armenian 

Greek 



A Palace of Treasure and Tragedy 39 

f St. Methodius "] • L , _ 
Originators < g ., Y Ninth Century 



Russian language 



Dialect of the Slavonian 
Complex grammar 
Contains no articles 



f Regular 1 Have endings determining modes of 
L Irregular J action 



Nouns - 



r Two numbers 
Three genders 
Seven cases 



- Declined as in Latin 



Philip made a weak joke about declining the nouns in 
any language, which I ignored; whereat he possessed him- 
self familiarly of my right hand and stubbornly resisted 
my efforts to withdraw it as we came up to an erect goro- 
dovoy at a street crossing. The policeman hid an em- 
barrassed smile behind a white cotton hand. 

" There, you've given it away to the Police Depart- 
ment ! " 

" Given what away? " 

" You know." 

"No I don't. What?" 

" Why, that we are honeymooners in Russia." 

I fear travel has not taught me that fine scorn of tour- 
ists' " sights " affected by some. Palaces, cathedrals, 
museums, parks, " quarters " — all hold an interest for 
me quite amazing. I like, and Philip likes, to " do " what 
there is to be " done " with all the thoroughness of the 
maligned tourist. If in subsequent newspaper reading, 
I see that the authenticity of the portrait of Lady D. 
has been questioned, it is agreeable to remember that self- 



40 Honeymooning in Russia 

same picture as it hung on the wall to the right of a 
gallery entrance. If a steamer is wrecked off Valdez, 
Alaska, there is a morbid satisfaction in being able to re- 
call just how the coast appeared to those who suffered 
shipwreck. If there has been a ball in Cairo, an earth- 
quake in Chile, a fire in New Orleans, or a scourge in 
Brisbane, each newspaper account flashes a vivid remem- 
brance before me. Likewise, I am sufficiently republican 
in birth and upbringing to enjoy a glimpse of despised 
royalty. The German Emperor reviewing the Berlin 
Garrison or speeding through the Thiergarten in a white 
motor-car; the King of Spain driving at midnight with 
Loubet on the Avenue de l'Opera half a minute before a 
bomb splintered his carriage ; a Shah at his prayers ; 
Queen Wilhelmina receiving at The Hague ; the King of 
Norway leaving a Danish castle when still a modest 
Prince of Denmark — I thank Fortune for having had 
the opportunity to see these personages, for their names 
mean history, and the sight of them a more vital interest 
in that history. 

Despite our sight-seeing ardour, however, the Winter 
Palace and the Hermitage presented an array of objects 
of art and historical interest quite discouraging. When 
we had paid off our curious cabby at the great door on 
the Neva side of the palace, an impressive lackey ad- 
mitted us, together with the guide already engaged and 
waiting. 

We went up a marble stairway to the apartments and 
galleries of the most spacious palace in Europe, if not 
the most splendid. I suppose Philip is as fond of art as 
most Americans of his sex, but I am sure he found the 
historical paintings of less interest than the display of 



iJXHIk 




< 



A Palace of Treasure and Tragedy 41 

gold and enamel plates which hung rim to rim about many 
of the enormous rooms. Our guide, who was of indeter- 
minate nationality, spoke English with so puzzling an ac- 
cent and insistent a volubility that we wished it had been 
possible to wander through the Imperial Residence with 
no conductor but our silent red Baedeker. We did 
learn from him, however, that the wall-plates were gifts 
to the Royal Family upon wedding or birth or feast days. 

" They look jolly like jewelled soup-plates to me," said 
disrespectful Philip. " How should you like a dozen of 
those in your china cabinet, Jena? " Jena, pronounced 
with a y, is Russian for wife, and I was " Jena Gouggton " 
to my husband throughout our Russian tour. 

A marvellous table presented to a former emperor by 
an Italian king showed a spring-time picture done in fin- 
est mosaic. It was inconceivable that mere hands and 
fingers could have sorted and placed such infinitesimal 
bits of coloured stone. Not in Italy itself had we seen 
mosaic equally fine. In the white and silver salon, I re- 
called a description of a court ball which I once heard 
from the lips of a young attache. 

The guests enter the palace by the great doors on the 
Neva, and ascend by the Ambassadors' Stairway to the 
white ballroom. In the square outside the coachmen 
tramp to and fro in the snow and warm themselves at 
the charcoal fires lighted on these occasions under tem- 
porary sheds. Young beauties, doyennes, diplomats, of- 
ficers; chiffons, jewels, court uniforms, gleaming helmets 
and swords, cartridge-cases and spurs form the enchant- 
ing picture within. Under the sparkling chandeliers, 
with a background of palms, over a glistening floor, the 
dancers move to the measure of mazurka and waltz, 



42 Honeymooning in Russia 

quadrille and promenade. A maid of honour, distin- 
guished by the shoulder knot of blue caught with the dia- 
mond monogram of her Empress, dances with a Lancer in 
a crimson coat; a grand Duchess honours a court cham- 
berlain whose back bears an embroidered key; a Hussar, 
whose sable and gilt-trimmed coat hangs from his shoul- 
ders, responds with adoring eyes to the piquant glances 
of an Ambassador's daughter; a ruffle catches upon a 
spur, and an aide-de-camp stoops at the feet of a 
Princess. 

Apart from the press of the frivolous, the " Most 
High " himself, and his consort graciously converse with 
war-seasoned generals, ministers, and dowagers of the 
court, whose costumes blaze with gems, orders, and price- 
less lace. Tender nothings, alluring gossip, hints of 
graver affairs, are drowned beneath the accent of the 
music. No ballroom in the world of kings offers so 
sumptuous a picture. 

Through the windows facing the square, we gained a 
better idea of the height of the Alexander I Column than 
is possible from the street. It is the tallest modern 
monolith, but it loses impressiveness through the waste 
of cobblestones about it. 

I wanted to sit upon the throne of Peter the Great, but 
Philip disapproved so emphatically that I gave up the 
idea, and contented myself trying to imagine the figure 
of the gaunt reformer, seated here in state accepting the 
scant homage of cavilling courtiers. 

We knocked at the door of a room at the south end of 
the great red stucco palace. An aged attendant turned 
a key within, and we entered a sanctuary — the private 
room of the murdered Alexander II. 



A Palace of Treasure and Tragedy 43 

Here they brought his bleeding body, and laid him 
upon the single cot which is shielded by a curtain. From 
his pockets they removed the trivial possessions he had 
taken with him when he went that morning to the review 
of the guards in the riding-school on the Michael Square. 
They lie now on his desk — a few kopeks, the equivalent 
of thirty cents, an old knife, and some cigarettes. Upon 
his unpretentious dressing-table, his brushes remain un- 
disturbed, not brushes of gold and ivory, monogrammed 
and surmounted by an Emperor's crown, but brushes 
half -worn and shabby. 

In order to thwart frequent attempts to kill him, he 
had forsaken his regal apartments in another part of 
the palace to write and read and sleep in this room, un- 
known to all but his most trusted attendants. There is 
to me something almost sacrilegious about entering as a 
curiosity-seeker these undisturbed rooms of the dead. In 
life we should not have been welcome. Intrusion after 
death is presumption. We stole quietly from the pitiful 
apartment, where a dying Gosudar had ended in agony 
his life's tragedy. 

The Crown Jewels, safeguarded in the Sokrovnik, or 
Treasury, were especially interesting because of the 
presence among them of the immense diamond which 
points the Imperial sceptre. Count Orlov, another of 
Catherine the Second's favourites, presented the jewel to 
her, and she rewarded him by giving it his name. It 
weighs almost two hundred carats, but is not so perfect 
as the Koh-i-noor nor so beautiful as the Pitt diamond, 
owned by France. The crown of Russia is a dome of 
stones, gorgeously variegated as to size and colour, but 
possessing in common a princely value. To my feminine 



44 Honeymooning in Russia 

taste, the coronet of the Empress appeared more lovely, 
for it is all of diamonds, and as exquisitely conceived an 
ornament as it is possible to imagine. We tried to count 
the gems, but the glittering mass so dazzled our eyes 
that we stopped at the two hundred and twenty-fifth. In 
long glass cases there were royal gifts, each stone of 
which stood for a fortune. There were historic gems, 
jewelled orders, buttons, buckles, rosettes, bows, girdles, 
aigrettes, plumes, fans, armlets, diadems. 

" Come away," commanded my practical husband ; 
" if we look any longer we shall lose all sense of val- 
ues." 

I shall always remember one jewel which we saw in the 
private chapel of the Tsar. It lay as an offering to a 
gold-shrouded ikon, a great pear-shaped sapphire, royally 
blue, regal, superb. 

The adjacent Hermitage, Catherine's retreat from the 
restlessness of court life, is a treasure-house of foreign 
and Russian paintings. Tintoretto, Titian, Guido Reni, 
and Dolci are represented in the Italian Galleries ; Franz 
Hals, Jan Steen, Cuyp, Dow, Hondekoter, Matsys, Ru- 
bens, Van Dyck, uphold the glory of the Flemish and 
Dutch schools. Two of Van Dyck's portraits were pur- 
chased from the English Houghton collection, to which 
we were not at all loth to claim relationship. The wealth 
of the Spanish gallery detained us when we returned the 
next day to complete our tour of the palace. It is 
called the finest collection of Spanish masterpieces out of 
Spain, and numbers a score of Murillos and a half-dozen 
by Velasquez. In other rooms there are pictures by Le 
Brun, Lorraine, Del Sarto, Vos, Reynolds, Greuze, 
Raphael; likewise a fair representation of native art. 



A 'Palace of Treasure and Tragedy 45 

Orlovsky's horses, Briilow's Last Day of Pompeii, and 
Neff's Nymphs are well-known. 

But the glory of the Hermitage Gallery is its un- 
rivalled number of Rembrandt's paintings. The Louvre 
and the Berlin Galleries together contain less than a score 
of his works. The Ryks at Amsterdam has, of course, 
two of his greatest achievements. In all Holland, how- 
ever, there are not so many examples of his genius as 
there are within the walls of the Hermitage, which is dis- 
tinguished by the possession of forty-one pictures by the 
Master of Light and Shadow, varying from his earliest 
to his latest manner and extending over a period of thirty 
years. The sixty paintings by Rubens, the thirty-four 
Van Dycks, the forty examples each of Teniers, Ruysdael, 
and Wouvermans also offer exceptional opportunities for 
studying Dutch and Flemish art. It was during Peter 
the Great's tours in Holland that very many of the Dutch 
pictures were purchased; up to that time Russia knew 
almost nothing of foreign paintings, and had developed 
few artists of her own. No gallery in Europe of its size 
and worth is so little known and appreciated as this one 
at St. Petersburgh. Probably no other has so few vis- 
itors, for not many tourists come this way, and the com- 
moners of Russia, who form ninety per cent, of her pop- 
ulation, are not freely admitted to her few institutions of 
art. We forsook masterpieces for curios when we en- 
tered the Peter I Museum, which we had intended to see 
the previous day. Stuffed dogs and horses, books and 
tools, swords and chariots interested us less than the 
many portraits and statues of the monarch's face and 
figure. 

I had had no real conception of his great height until 



46 Honeymooning in Russia 

I saw it indicated at nearly seven feet upon a wooden 
measure. Gigantically tall, with raven hair, protruding 
cheek- and jaw-bones, and prominent eyes; actuated by 
passionate impulses and a conquering will, intemperate, 
murderous, versatile, ingenious, faithful to the interests 
of his country as he perceived them — what a barbaric 
picture, what a tangle of contradictions and complexities 
his memory presents! His father was the mild and good 
Alexis; his mother, the modest and beautiful ward of 
Alexis' favourite minister. While dining at his house in- 
formally, Alexis saw the girl, and became interested in 
her matrimonial future. Many men loved her, but none 
would marry a dowerless maiden, so one day Alexis an- 
nounced to her guardian that a man had been found who 
would take her, dowered only with a sweet face and 
womanly virtues. And this man was the Emperor of 
Russia. And thus Peter the Great's mother became an 
Empress. 

His father had already introduced Dutch ship-build- 
ers and their craft, so Peter came naturally by his obses- 
sion for all things relating to a navy. 

He went to Western Europe first as Peter Mikhailov, 
an attache, and when he became a dock-yard labourer he 
was called Peter Baas, or Master Peter. In England he 
met our William Penn, whose proposed visit to Russia in 
later years was discouraged by Catherine the Great. 

Despite the opposition of the entire nation, which ab- 
horred the rest of Europe, he crowded innovations and 
reforms upon Russia in his consuming desire to place his 
empire on a civilised footing. Some of his ukases related 
to affairs hardly worthy the attention of a monarch. 
He forbade the wearing of beards, and made an excep- 





Tsarevitch Alexis 



A Palace of Treasure and Tragedy &% 

tion of only those who paid a special tax. These 
favoured ones received a brass medal as a receipt, and 
some of these relics we saw in the museum. He slew 
thousands of his subjects, and tortured many thousands 
more, breaking them on a wheel, or hanging them up to 
die with a hook about a rib. And yet, when he saw fellow- 
beings struggling in the Neva and about to drown, he 
threw himself into the cold waters, thereby contracting 
an illness from which he died. A monstrous problem ! 

" Peter the Great — Scoundrel, someone called him, you 
remember," said Philip, as we looked at a ring set with 
the Tsar's portrait beneath a pink diamond. Through 
a rosy crystal most historians have seen him and por- 
trayed his life accordingly. It is a question whether his 
chief claim to fame does not lie in the fact that he was 
inordinately persevering, and extravagantly vain. Un- 
biassed study of his story does not disclose him as a phi- 
lanthropist seeking only his country's good, but as a 
despot breaking the will of a nation upon the wheel of his 
own conceit. 

A hundred years before the Russo-Japanese fiasco, a 
Mikado, with more contempt for Russia than regard for 
the feelings of her Emperor, Alexander I, sent back a 
pair of ivory vases, now shown in the museum, " since 
he could not accept gifts from an inferior." That would 
constitute a casus belli now-a-days, and yet gigantic 
Russia ignored it a century ago. 

In the presence of the beautiful Unattainable it amuses 
me to select for my own the one object I find most desir- 
able. Here in the Hermitage Musee, I chose a wonder- 
ful goblet of gold, and Russian enamel which is used at 
the marriage of imperial lovers. But Philip wanted 



48 Honeymooning in Russia 

most an inch-high parrot cut from a single emerald, a 
gift from a long-ago king to his Savoy bride. We 
smiled, my king and I, as we detected the sentimental in 
each other's choice. We sauntered back through the 
long galleries loth to leave a jewel unseen or a relic un- 
discovered. There was an array of brushes, boxes and 
mirrors in gold filigree which Phil thought I should have 
for my London dressing-table. Not to be outdone in 
generosity, I selected for future imaginative promenades, 
a walking-stick with a handle of jasper smothered in dia- 
monds. 

Supported by monster carvings, the Hermitage porch 
looks across the Bolshaia, or Great, Neva to the Peter- 
Paul Fortress with its gilt spire as thin as a sapling 
pine ; to the University, founded in 1736 ; to the Stock 
Exchange with a chapel attached where members pray 
before going on 'change at four in the afternoon ; to the 
Academy of Arts and Sciences, and to the Russian equiv- 
alent for our Annapolis Naval Academy. 

Down the English Quay to the left, the Admiralty and 
Senate buildings flank the equestrian memorial to the 
city's namesake, erected by Catherine II. In the dis- 
tance lie " the Islands " — Yelagin, Kammenoi, Krestov- 
ski; and the shallow waters of the Gulf of Finland. On 
the river we saw barges which had come all the way from 
the cities of the Volga with cargoes of lumber and grain. 
The long voyage had so wracked their joints that they 
would probably be broken up, like so many of their fellows, 
and sold for firewood to the citizens of Petersburgh, or 
Piterburgh, as Peter liked to call it in honour of the 
Dutch. 

As our hotel was near by, we walked across the Palace 



A Palace of Treasure and Tragedy 49 

Square and past the little park where on a certain tragic 
January day the sabres of the Cossacks were drawn 
against a company of overworked and underpaid ar- 
tisans who had assembled under the windows of the Little 
Father to ask his counsel. I remembered how in Paris I 
had read to my mother the wording of their petition, and 
how we had both wept over the simplicity of its expres- 
sion and the brutality of its reply. 



c£J & 

Chapter V 

A CHAPTER OF OUTINGS 
€t f 1 

x^AN'T we be a little gay to-night? " my husband in- 
quired, as we made as extensive a dinner toilet as the 
paucity of our baggage allowed. I was for going to bed 
early in preparation for the water excursion planned for 
the morrow, but got no encouragement from my energetic 
Tsar. So after an uncommonly good dinner we were off 
to the Zoological Garden, relying upon the courier's 
statement that there was sure to be music and a crowd 
if nothing else. 

Outside the wooden gate we saw a young non-commis- 
sioned officer marched off for smoking in the street. If 
he had worn even a lieutenant's chevrons he might have 
enjoyed his cigarette undisturbed. 

We sat down at a table near the casino and ordered the 
inevitable tea, while a military band boomed and fluted 
a fascinating air from Chaikovsky's " Pique Dame." 
The crowd seemed as merry as the tune, promenading 
before the animal cages, making Russian jokes, and smok- 
ing incessantly. Sentimental officers in the now-familiar 
long army coat, sauntered with their inamoratas down 
paths none too shady, since the sun had not yet set. 
Fathers surrounded by a numerous family turned over the 
pages of the day's Novosti or Rech, and occasionally in- 
terrupted the tea-sipping to share a newsy paragraph 
with the wife — usually fat, rarely fair. 

German influence cannot be said to lend pictur- 

50 



A Chapter of Outings 51 

esqueness to the female garb in this part of Russia. A 
tight-breasted bodice trimmed down the centre with a 
row of buttons, a skirt with as little style as usually marks 
one that is " made in Germany," an unbecoming hat set 
upon a plain coiffure above a sallow face: this is an hon- 
est picture of an every-day mother in North Russia. 
The men were far more impressive in manner and appear- 
ance. As Philip put it, " They had an air," accentuated 
by dapper clothes and scrupulously-trained moustaches. 

Waiters frequently passed among the tables refilling 
samovars with water. An average Russian family's ca- 
pacity for " yellow chai " is limitless, and they drink until 
the original strength of the tea is exhausted, the company 
resolving itself into a hot water- rather than a tea- 
party. 

When the sun had gone down, the open-air theatre at- 
tracted the promenaders. We took a seat near the rear 
expecting to see a programme characteristic of Russia. 
" At least we shall have some Russian dances," I prophe- 
sied. But the programme, translated into French, foretold 
little of native individuality. Coarse German comedy 
and knock-about turns were interlarded with songs by 
Hungarian and Italian soubrettes in knee-length satins. 
For the anticipated Kamarinsky, a quartette of dancers 
substituted a Slavonic interpretation of the cake-walk. 
The audience was immensely amused — and so were 
we! 

The hour was close to midnight. The " spectacle " for 
which we waited was billed after the intermission, and 
Part I was far from completion. Philip, weary of a hard 
seat and an arid programme, suggested a stroll. In the 
aisle we found an usher. 



52 Honeymooning in Russia 

" Ask him when the Chino- Japanese war comes off," I 
urged. 

"Ask him? None of these fellows knows anything but 
Russian. You ask him ! " This with a grin which 
aroused a determination to exhibit what Russian I had 
lately acquired. So I began: 

" Pajaluista, katory chas?" at the same time indica- 
ting a number on the programme designated as 

FIRE-WORKS AND BALLET 

CHINO- JAPANESE WAR 

To my gratification and Philip's confusion, the good man 
understood me perfectly, for he courteously replied, 
" Tepper tri chasa, Sudarynya," courteously, but un- 
intelligibly, for my acquaintance with the language did 
not as yet extend to the numerals. In the end, Philip 
relieved the situation by pointing first to the programme 
number and then to his watch dial. A stubby finger 
indicated the figure 3, giving us to understand that 
the piece de resistance would not be enacted until day- 
break ! 

Later visits to resorts and theatres accustomed us to 
the all-night habit of the Russians, but this, our first ex- 
perience, was a bit staggering. We both agreed that a 
third-rate replica of Paine's Fireworks was scarcely worth 
a three-hour wait, and on the stroke of twelve we drove 
back to bed. 

At seven I was awakened by an ejaculation, 

" There ! I was afraid we would." 

" Are you talking in your sleep, Philip? " 



A Chapter of Outings 53 

" No, I'm not. What do you suppose we forgot to see 
in the Winter Palace ? " 

"Nothing, I should say. What?" 

" The hand of John the Baptist!" 

"No!" 

" Yes ! And I anticipated that most of all." 

" Never mind," I consoled, " you shall see an urn con- 
taining drops of his ' veritable blood ' when we reach 
Moscow." 

I began to discuss our lunch basket for the boat trip 
to Schliisselburgh, and by degrees he forgot his disap- 
pointment. We went marketing directly we had finished 
breakfast. A shop not far away yielded rye bread and 
a spicy Russian cheese, which we voted out-Gruyered 
Gruyere. A four-ruble jar of pearl ikra was Philip's 
extravagance. The salty black sturgeon roe known to 
epicures outside Russia, he scorned, demanding the un- 
salted grey caviar freshly imported from the Caspian. 
A comb of honey, a raw cucumber, some unsalted butter, 
a lemon and a pinch of tea were tucked into corners of 
the willow basket of peasant make. Likewise a bottle of 
raspberry kvas. At the hotel, we added a wee samovar 
and a cold roast grouse. On the way to the landing we 
bought for me a box of Krepov caramels, and for Philip 
a pack of Russian cigarettes, which he had come to think 
the finest rolled. 

The small steamer which carried us the forty miles to 
the Neva's source was patterned after American excur- 
sion boats, as is the case on many European waters. 
With our precious hamper between us, we sat by the 
railing and watched great factories slip by on the bank 



54 Honeymooning in Russia 

of the yellow river. Colonies of workmen's houses stood 
in the background. One large building housed the 
Porcelain Works of which we had read. The indefati- 
gable Catherine encouraged here the creation of exquisite 
ceramics which are always stamped with the crowned 
initial of the reigning Tsar. 

The sight of extensive cotton and iron mills gave us 
quite a notion of St. Petersburgh's manufacturing inter- 
ests, though they are far less important than those of 
Moscow. The English who once controlled and superin- 
tended most of the large manufactories in North Russia 
have, in many cases, been forced out by the jealous ag- 
gression of the Russians themselves, who have served 
their apprenticeship, and are now ambitious to be mas- 
ters of their own commerce. There are many factories, 
however, which retain an Englishman as manager, for the 
executive ability of the average Russian is not usually a 
well-developed characteristic, though the workmen have 
clever fingers and are exceedingly apt in imitation. 

After we passed the Neva Rapids we saw the forest 
slopes of old estates and the ruins of once splendid homes. 
" A sort of Rhino-Hudsonian effect," according to Philip. 
At Schlusselburgh we disembarked after a four-hour 
struggle against the current. We ignored the drosky- 
men and trudged along the streets of the sizable city in 
true picnic fashion. Somewhere on the banks of Lake 
Ladoga, largest inland body of water in all Europe, we 
were sure of finding a reposeful spot under a tree. 

When we finally emerged upon a country road, our 
long tramp was rewarded by the discovery of an idyllic 
lakeside picnic ground just large enough for two. As 
it was well past one o'clock, we immediately delved into 



A Chapter of Outings 55 

the basket and began to set forth upon the impromptu 
table-cloth the appetising edibles. Philip was wrestling 
with a cork, and I was equally engaged attempting, with 
a jack-knife, to slice the bread to a tasty thinness, when 
a dust-raising telega rumbled by. A drunken roar from 
the bottom of the wagon indicated the location of the 
muzhik driver. Scarcely a minute later, the noise of a 
collision and a groan brought us to our feet and sent 
Philip down the road. I covered over the luncheon and 
followed, trying to recall certain rules of " First Aid." 

Beneath a broken bicycle we found a tall young fellow 
of perhaps twenty-four. Pie lay in the road face down, 
and was apparently unconscious. Aroused by the crash, 
the farmer was peering over the waggon-side, his eyes 
bleary with vodka. Philip raised the wrecked bicycle and 
lifted the boy's head out of the dust. His face was chalk- 
white and streaked with blood from a wound beneath his 
blond hair. 

" Here, you drunken rascal, get down out of there and 
help me carry this man ! " called Philip. The muzhik 
stared and smiled. Philip waved his free arm and pointed 
to the limp figure, but the besotted Ivan Ivanovitch 
merely continued to smile and stare. Consigning his 
charge to me, Phil made a dash for the telega wheel, laid 
hold of the muzhik's ragged shoulder and pulled him 
bodily over the side. To my surprise, the cause of our 
predicament kept his balance, and in a few moments more 
was able to assist in carrying the wounded boy to the 
shade under our picnic tree. I got out Phil's flask and 
thanked Providence that the samovar was already boiling. 
For ten minutes we did all we knew to bring life to that 
half-dead face, so strangely un-Russian, 



56 Honeymooning in Russia 

Ivan, now more his sober self, brought his horse and 
tied him to a tree, and then went to fetch cupfuls of cool 
water from the lake, with which I bathed the white tem- 
ples. As we waited for some encouraging sign of re- 
turning consciousness, Philip hunted the bicyclist's pock- 
ets through for some hint of his identity. A few letters 
addressed in Russian were all we found until I came 
upon a carte de visite photograph signed, " Your Cicely." 
It had been taken in Philadelphia. Then I understood 
who it was we had found here by Lake Ladoga, wounded 
through the carelessness of an intoxicated muzhik. Too 
amazed for speech, I had not recovered myself sufficiently 
to explain to Phil before our patient's eyelids trembled 
and he drew a deep sigh. Then he opened his eyes and 
tried to raise his head. " Where am I ? " he said in Eng- 
lish. 

" With some friends of Cicely's," I replied. He smiled 
and turned his head dreamily, while my husband stared 
at us each in turn. In explanation I held out the little 
photograph. 

" By Gee ! You don't suppose — ? " 

" I suppose nothing. This is Jerry Drake, Cicely Haz- 
ard's fiance. If we hadn't picnicked to-day in this very 
place, he might have died under the hoofs of a Russian 
farm-horse. Don't you remember Cicely's writing me 
last year that he had been sent off after he graduated at 
Princeton to help manage some of his father's Russian 
business interests ? " 

" Well, of all the coincidences — ! " 

" It's too wonderful ! " I exclaimed, my voice trembling 
with excitement. 

" What is ? " said young Drake, opening his eyes again. 



A Chapter of Outings 57 

Then: " What are you two doing here talking English? " 
At that he caught sight of Ivan standing by his cart, and 
began to swear Slavonic oaths. Evidently, the memory 
of the collision had come back to him. His words ap- 
parently gave to the peasant the first clue he had gained 
as to his share in the accident. His contrition was really 
affecting. He ran with his cap off and knelt to kiss 
Drake's hand, which was quickly withdrawn. " Get up, 
you! It's all right, but why don't you give up this vile 
potato brandy ? How's your horse — good for a drive 
in to Schliisselburgh? " This half in English, half in 
Russian. The farmer nodded his head and, going back 
to his springless waggon, began to arrange some straw in 
the bottom and to fold a sheepskin coat for a pillow. 
Philip carved the grouse and I made the tea. We did 
not speak, for young Jerry Drake lay very quiet, to all 
appearances asleep. 

After five minutes, with no sound but the gentle laving 
of the waters, he pulled himself upright, and inquired, 
" Now will you be so good as to repeat what you said 
when I first asked where I was ? " 

" With some friends of Cicely's," said I, and took up 
the picture which lay at my hand. He reached for it 
and devoured it with his young brown eyes. 

" Of Cicely's? " he repeated. 

" Yes, of Cicely Hazard's, my dear school room-mate. 
I am Phil Houghton's wife. Did she write you? " 

" Then you are, or were, Joyce Langdon? " 

" None other," I assured him, " and very happy to 
have been at your service in far-off Russland." It was all 
explained finally — how he had come out from Peters- 
burgh for a day*s run on his wheel, had seen the muzhik's 



58 Honeymooning in Russia 

galloping horse, how he had turned out to safety, as he 
supposed, and in the end had found himself propped 
against a tree with luncheon ready to serve. We drank 
to his sweetheart in raspberry kvas, not forgetting to 
offer the contrite Ivan a glass. We made away with 
cheese and caviar, the honey and the fowl. By the time 
the basket was empty, our young knight of the wrecked 
wheel declared himself equal to the drive into Schhissel- 
burgh. We made an odd party, Jerry Drake reclining 
against the peasant's soiled coat, the peasant himself sit- 
ting up in front and driving sedately enough now, and 
we two American picnickers. We left the bicycle by the 
roadside, w a monument to King Vodka," Jerry called it. 
Our invalid rested at an inn while we took a drosky 
around by the canal locks which, through Peter's enter- 
prise, make navigation possible between the Baltic and 
the Caspian, by way of the Volga. The sight of the in- 
famous fortress of Schlusselburgh aroused memories of 
historic dramas played within its battlements. The two 
Tsars murdered at the will of Catherine II were impris- 
oned here at the same time, and one of them, Ivan VI, 
found his grave in the moat, buried in a sheepskin coat, 
though by birth entitled to a tomb in the Peter-Paul 
mausoleum. Here, another of Catherine's victims, her 
husband's cousin, was imprisoned and done to death. 
Because Catherine feared her as a possible rival for the 
throne, she detailed one of her lovers, Count Georg 
Orlov, brother to the one who had given her the famous 
diamond and by whom she had also had a child, to go to 
Italy and make love to the young Princess Tarakhenov. 
Count Georg, whose own hands had helped to strangle 
Peter III, had no scruples about luring a young girl to 



A Chapter of Outings 59 

torture and death. He persuaded her, with the arts of 
a lover, to marry him. Believing herself honestly wooed, 
she consented to become his countess, and quite innocent 
of the trap, went with her pseudo-husband aboard a ship 
then at Leghorn and set sail for Russia. Her foot had 
scarcely touched the deck when she was thrown into 
chains and a temporary prison. She was released only 
to be shut up within the blood-stained walls of Schlussel- 
burgh, eventually her tomb. The island upon which the 
present prison stands has been the site of a similar struc- 
ture for nearly six hundred years. Swedes and Slavs 
fought over it until Peter the Great definitely settled the 
contest by seizing the territory about it. 

Thousands of " politicals " have been sentenced to im- 
prisonment beneath its towers — men and women whose 
only crime was a desire and an effort to redeem their be- 
nighted country from barbaric oppression more than 
eight hundred years old. 

By seven o'clock we were back at the St. Petersburgh 
landing opposite the Summer Gardens. Jerry, still a 
little pale, could not be persuaded to dine with us, so we 
took him to the train for Strelna, and parted, with 
promises for an early renewal of our wayside friendship. 

" Good-bye," he called from the door of the car. " I 
shall write Cicely to-night all about the life-saving station 
on the shores of Lake Ladoga ! " 

We had dinner in our room and went early to bed, 
rather played out by the exciting termination of our 
rural excursion. 

Nearly all the next day was spent in the Imperial Li- 
brary and in the Museum of Carriages. The Library is 
rich in the possession of manuscripts centuries old. In 



60 Honeymooning in Russia 

antiquity many of these parchments surpass any owned 
elsewhere in the world. The British Museum cannot be- 
gin to boast of so interesting or valuable a collection of 
religious manuscripts, many of which are inscribed in 
almost forgotten tongues and are illuminated with gold 
and silver. The Ostromir manuscript is the oldest known 
in the Slavonian language, and is dated 1056. 

We found very interesting the cases filled with copies 
of the Bible translated into nearly every existing tongue, 
memorials to the zeal of linguistic missionaries. 

In the newspaper room were journals from all the 
world. As I turned the first page of the Manchester 
Guardian I discovered a half column of reading-matter 
effectually blotted out by the application of something 
which resembled black sand. When I called Philip's at- 
tention to it, he assumed a patronising air and expressed 
himself as chagrined at his wife's ignorance. 

" That is the censor's work. You must know that no 
newspaper may be delivered to an ordinary subscriber 
having no special privileges, until it is examined. If mat- 
ter derogatory to Russia or relating to the Tsar is found 
it is ' killed ' by ' passing it into caviar.' " 

" Thank you," I replied. " Do you suppose that is 
why the customs' officers looked so critically through the 
London Times wrapped around the overshoes in my 
bag? " 

For an hour we amused ourselves going through Eng- 
lish and American papers searching for news, and for 
more examples of the censor's industry. In the New 
York Herald of June ninth we came upon the notice of 
our own wedding, and of our sudden departure " for the 
groom's new field of labour." At which we laughed, for 



A Chapter of Outings 61 

the " field of labour " was miles and weeks away and our 
faces were turned from London towards Moscow and 
Nizhni, Yalta and Odessa, Kiev and Warsaw for a long 
honeymoon. 

We lunched at Dominique's and later walked to Stable 
Street to see the imperial carriages — carriages painted 
by Watteau and decorated by Gravelot, gilded and jew- 
elled and crowned; carriages trimmed with lace and in- 
crusted with pearl; sledges, broughams, phaetons, two- 
wheeled carts. 

Peter's sledge, which he himself constructed from 
shaves to runners, is shown beneath a glass case. The 
windows are made of mica. Quite like a modern touring- 
car, the sledge is fitted with a " week-end trunk " rack to 
accommodate the Emperor's travelling outfit. A hun- 
dred-year-old drosky has a feature also used on modern 
vehicles — a primitive cyclometer to record time and dis- 
tance, with the additional advantage that an automatic 
music-box is operated by the revolution of the wheels. 

Philip, " lover of horses," had taken the precaution to 
secure a permit to see the imperial stables where hun- 
dreds of horses are kept in winter, though most of them 
are distributed in summer among the Emperor's various 
residences. Those intended for the Tsar's personal use 
are pure white and of the long-tailed and gentle Orlov 
breed. Five thousand dollars a month is expended in 
horse-feed for the inmates of the royal stalls. 

Jerry came in one evening to invite us to go with him 
to hear the music at a summer garden on one of the 
Islands. The chief attraction was the singing of a fasci- 
nating Russian whose hold upon the male population of 
the capital was a matter of gossip. She was of a type 



62 Honeymooning in Russia 

much admired by the Russian — chic, blond and indif- 
ferent, quite the antithesis of the beauty we accredit to 
the Russian women. 

Though the voice itself was not remarkable for power 
or sweetness, the magnetism of the diva's singing was ex- 
traordinary, arousing her adoring audience to extrava- 
gant expressions of delight. A fetching popular air 
brought a rain of gold pieces about her, and cries of 
" Bis ! Bis ! " echoed under the trees. With a slight 
gesture for the orchestra conductor, she took up the 
melody again, languorous, enticing, disdainful. Her long 
eyes half closed as she swung into the flippant chorus, 
and her supple body swayed like a lily. As she reached 
the final measure, a tall man sprang down the grassy 
aisle and leapt up the steps from the orchestra to the 
stage. She gave a cry at sight of the figure in the Hus- 
sar's uniform, clasping her bare jewelled fingers to her 
cheeks. Her eyes were startled and full of fear. Half 
the men in the audience rose to their feet, the other half 
had recognised the man as her husband and sat still. 
With a moan the singer sank to her knees, and stretching 
her arms above her head cried over and over, " Non, 
Sacha, non ! " The man stood over her speaking rapidly 
in Russian and apparently commanding her to get up. 
In a moment, she stumbled to her feet and followed him 
off the stage, her laces trailing over the coins which she 
had scorned to pick up. The orchestra began to play 
something diverting. The audience settled back in their 
chairs and resumed the tea and wine drinking. 

" What is it ? " I said to Jerry as he lighted a ciga- 
rette. 

" The climax of a romance. This woman, ' the Sorcer- 



A Chapter of Outings 63 

ess ' they call her, was a child in the Foundling Asylum 
when she was adopted by an ironworker's family at Alex- 
androvski. She was singing one day in the little yard at 
the rear of the cottage when this fellow, the Hussar, 
passed on his horse and looked over the fence. He spoke 
to her. She replied. Finally he asked her if she would 
like an education and training for her voice. Of course 
she said yes, and so he arranged with her foster-parents 
to send her to a convent and to pay her expenses. 

" I believe she remained there five years, or until she was 
nineteen. Then he took her out and married her, se- 
cluding her jealously on his estate south of Petersburgh. 
He had to be in the Caucasus with his regiment. She 
was beautiful, talented and — lonely. Somehow she got 
to Petersburgh and found an opportunity to sing in a 
theatre. Instantly she was the rage. Everyone went 
wild about her. She took apartments on the Millionaia, 
and lived sumptuously, singing every night and entertain- 
ing Grand Dukes and Princes. All this time no one 
knew who she was, nor where she came from. But one 
day the husband came back and found her gone from his 
place near Chudova. When he discovered her here, sing- 
ing, and the sensation of the midnight restaurants, he 
was insane with jealousy and anger. He closed up her 
apartment and took her back to the country, swearing to 
kill her if she ever returned. For some time they lived 
on the estate and people almost forgot the enchantress. 
Finally the husband was ordered away again, and he went 
off happy in her promise to remain at their home away 
from old associations. But, like many Russian women, 
deceitful, idle, and pleasure-loving, she came back and 
of course had no difficulty securing engagements. You 



64 Honeymooning in Russia 

saw how mad they were about her, and the fact that she 
was here despite her husband's threat only added a dash 
of romance. Evidently he has returned unexpectedly 
soon. Did you see her eyes ? " 

" But he won't kill her? " 

" No, probably not, though he may beat her, for that 
is an undisputed prerogative of Russian husbands. The 
wife has no protection by law from her lord's hands, and 
does not dream of resenting violence whether deserved or 
not." 

" Well, there's no doubt about the husband's justifica- 
tion in this case, at any rate," from Philip. 

The fate of our siren interested me so keenly that after 
several days I inquired of the courier whether there had 
been a tragedy reported in the late journals. 

" No, Madame," he replied, looking curious. I ex- 
plained. 

" Ah, Madame — murder — that is something not 
much known here. A beating — yes, but a husband 
does not often find it necessary to kill his wife to punish 
her." Which we thought a humane and unique attitude. 



Cg3 $ 



Chapter VI 

THE PENALTY OF A SNAP-SHOT 

1 0-DAY," I said as we sat at our tea and rolls, 
" let us do something entirely unplanned. Let us give 
no orders, but drive where the coachie takes us. Eh? " 
Philip agreed, and accordingly we approached a cab 
with no recourse to picture-card and halting Russian. 
We made the bargain by the hour, signifying our indif- 
ference as to route and destination, and started down 
the Nevsky with a familiar jerk. 

" Our old friend with the ears," I murmured under 
cover of the rattle, and nodded towards the bulky kaftan. 

" Oh, well, it can't be anything but a coincidence," re- 
turned my husband. " Why should we be under the 
eternal suspicion of the Third Section ? " 

" Aha ! " I whispered back. " So you have come to 
think so too? I thought you scoffed at my theory con- 
cerning the white-haired man who seems always to be just 
around the corner. Of course we haven't done anything 
to merit watching. Haven't we refrained from saying 
even nice things about the Emperor? I am sure I never 
tried so hard not to talk about things I wanted to talk 
about. Did you see those men last night at Donon's? 
They spoke in French. One of them quite casually men- 
tioned His Imperial Majesty, and instantly everyone 
arose and left the table." 

" Afraid the waiter was a Secret Service agent, I sup- 
pose." 



66 Honeymooning in Russia 

" Yes, but how could they have implicated themselves 
by listening to their dinner companion's remark about 
the proposed cruise of the Tsar? " 

" I give it up." 

" Oh, see that lovely dressing-gown Tatar selling shoe- 
strings and things ! " I exclaimed, suddenly aware of a 
half -turned ear. 

" Let's photograph him," said Philip, and called 
" Stoi " to the driver, who immediately pulled in his 
horse. The descendant of former rulers of Muscovy 
obligingly posed, grinning in a most engaging manner. 
Afterwards he peered into the lens and said something 
which doubtless meant, " Now show me the picture." 
Since we could not do that we bought some of his wares 
before we left him on the curb, still smiling. 

We drove out the avenue, across the Bolshaia Mor- 
skaia, which runs into the Nevsky at right angles and 
seconds it in importance; over the Catherine Canal, up 
which we saw the memorial church newly erected to the 
martyred Alexander; past the City Hall; the fire tow- 
ers ; the Bazaars, across the fashionable Fontanka Canal ; 
past the Moscow station and so to the end of the three- 
mile Perspective. 

We wound around a cobblestoned roadway which 
twisted and curved to the gate of what we judged to be 
merely a cemetery. 

" Probably someone famous is buried here," I sur- 
mised, and correctly, as it turned out. On our left was 
a white ecclesiastical building, cloistered and severe. 
Winding walks and shrubbery gave the appearance of a 
park. A richly dressed lady led a little boy from the 
side of a new grave and entered her waiting linega. Then 



The Penalty of a Snap-Shot 67 

we saw a monk turn a corner, and I knew where we 
were. 

" This is the Alexander Monastery, third holiest shrine 
in Russia, seat of a Metropolitan, burial place of Alex- 
ander Nevsky, and of the composers Glinka, Rubinstein 
and Chaikowsky ! " I had read about it only the night 
before while Phil and Jerry were dining at the Yacht 
Club with an attache of the British Embassy. The re- 
ward of my lonely evening was at hand, and I forthwith 
displayed all the knowledge I possessed about the famous 
monastery. Peter the Inevitable founded the monas- 
tery or lavra in commemoration of the sainted warrior 
Alexander of the Nevsky, and Catherine built the mag- 
nificent cathedral. Within its doors we saw their por- 
traits mounted upon great pillars. There were excel- 
lent copies of Rubens and Perugino, and the usual superb 
display of jewels, precious metals, and historic relics. 

The splendid tomb of the lavra's namesake, St. Alex- 
ander, is of pure silver, sculptured in bas-relief and 
crowned by a trio of life-sized angels. In prosaic figures, 
over half a ton of silver was used in casting this noble 
shrine. Philip, almost six feet tall, could reach but half 
way up the side of the tomb alone, and a man on a twenty- 
foot ladder could barely have touched the top of the 
angels' heads. 

The choral singing of men and boys in the monastery 
chapel is particularly notable upon the days when the 
imperial family is accustomed to attend at the celebra- 
tion of a " perfect mass," which, being unabridged, lasts 
almost four hours. The singers are trained in the Im- 
perial Choir, an organisation of great distinction in 
Petersburgh, where youths with promising talents are 



68 Honeymooning in Russia 

educated for ecclesiastical singing, are lodged, and, in 
the end, pensioned by the Government. A family which 
produces an exceptional soprano or bass voice is regarded 
as the favourite of fortune, the parents having no need 
to plan for the son's future. Only members of the court 
are permitted to hear these rare voices except upon the 
annual occasion when the entire choral number of ninety- 
three boys and thirty-eight men unite in rendering for 
the hospitals a work by Mozart or Palestrina. A cer- 
tain quality of voice is often the prized heritage of one 
family, son succeeding father, so that bass and tenor 
dynasties exist and are recognised by the deacons who 
select the choruses for the Orthodox Church. 

Fabulous sums are paid to the lavra for the privilege 
of burying the dead in its sacred soil. The monastery 
is also possessed of an income from taxes, contributions, 
perquisites and bequests. 

In the holy enclosure we found the flower-strewn 
graves of Russia's three most illustrious composers. 
Glinka, born a century ago, fathered the school of na- 
tional music, and is especially beloved by his countrymen 
for the patriotic opera, " A Life for the Tsar." Anton 
Rubinstein associated Glinka with Beethoven, Bach, 
Schubert, and Chopin as the great architects of modern 
music. Aside from his genius as a composer and execu- 
tant, Rubinstein figures large in the musical annals of 
the capital because of his connexion with the conserva- 
tory of which he was the founder and first director. 
This conservatory is the dean of all Russian institutions 
for musical learning and numbers upon its roll of re- 
nowned teachers and composers, Henselt, Wieniawski, 
Jjeschetizky, Chaikowsky, Davidov, Arensky, and Gabrilo- 



The Penalty of a Snap-Shot 69 

vitsch. About thirteen hundred pupils attend the con- 
servatory, though the professors complain that even the 
most talented rarely attain their proper measure of fame 
because of their native dislike for studious application 
and sustained effort. 

Russia's master musician did not go for his inspira- 
tion to the heart of the people as did Glinka, though much 
of his work is built upon the minor foundation character- 
istic of Slavonic composition. Chaikowsky was born in 
East Russia, and died in Petersburgh from the effects of 
drinking a glass of iced Neva water and thereby con- 
tracting cholera. 

We left the burying ground and turned a gravelled 
walk. A " black priest," of whom there are over ten 
thousand in Russia, stood talking with a ragged beggar- 
woman. The cloistered monastery constituted a pic- 
turesque background for a photograph, the monk in his 
tall klobuki, and flowing hair, an equally picturesque sub- 
ject. The sight of the camera sent the old crone hob- 
bling down the path, making a poklon, or cross-sign, and 
muttering incantations discouraging to evil spirits. The 
Brother of St. Basil smiled with us at her terror. His 
soft eyes and gentle bearing recalled the monk in the 
Kazan. 

" May we take your picture ? " I asked, first in French, 
then in German — to no avail. The monk looked regret- 
ful, I perplexed. But Philip, ever fluent in the language 
of signs, successfully pantomimed our wishes. The 
brother's face brightened as he nodded. He arranged 
his hair over each shoulder and folded his plump hands 
over his gown. But hold! He must first assume gar- 
ments worthy of so unusual an occasion. He beckoned 



70 Honeymooning in Russia 

towards the monastery, and we followed him through the 
porch and down a long hallway, a trifle uncertain as to 
the propriety of our entering there. At the door of his 
" cell" the brother motioned us* in. The room was small 
but undeniably cosey. On a mantel-piece were photo- 
graphs of the occupant's family, and some trivial orna- 
ments. The door of a diminutive bed-chamber stood 
open. A patchwork quilt across the foot of the bed 
gave a homely air. Instead of the whitewashed cell of 
the Roman Catholic brotherhoods, here were quarters not 
to be despised by a layman. When he had seated us 
with the manner of a child trying to play the host, our 
monk searched for an illustrated book and laid it on the 
table before us. Then he opened the windows to admit 
the breeze, and excused himself courteously before van- 
ishing into the toy bedroom. 

"Do you suppose this is proper?" I inquired. "Are 
women permitted to enter the cells of Russian brother- 
hoods? I shouldn't be a particle surprised to have the 
Metropolitan come and put me out." 

" Oh, the monk probably knows what he is about. I 
hope he isn't going to take as long as a woman to dress, 
just because he wears skirts and long hair. I know he 
curls it." In ten minutes he appeared, his face shiny 
with soap, his gown changed to one of velvet, his wavy 
hair moistly combed, and crowned by a Sunday klobuki 
draped with a black veil. We went out to the shady 
porch. 

" Just the place for a picture if the light were better," 
said the photographer, motioning his model back to a 
spot where the sun came through an archway. I 




"The Conquerors," by Vereschagin 



The Penalty of a Snap-Shot 71 

perched on the balustrade. Philip calculated and ad- 
justed. When we looked up, the monk was gone I We 
went to find him. Around the corner he stood, as self- 
effacing as a shy girl, disappointed and meekly puzzled. 
Evidently he had mistaken the signal to stand farther 
back, and had thought himself dismissed before the bulb 
was pressed. So Philip led him back to the spot of sun- 
shine on the stone floor, and then he understood and 
smiled, happy again. He posed half a dozen times within 
the cloister and out on the green campus. When we 
parted, Philip took out his own card and signified his de- 
sire to have the monk's so we could send him the prints. 
In a moment he had gone to his room and returned again, 
bringing proudly a crude square of pasteboard printed 
in Russian. As each studied the other's card, the brother, 
who knew the Latin alphabet, spelled out the words: 

PHILIP DEAN HOUGHTON 

University Club 
New York. 

" New York ? " he said. " Amerikanets ? " 
" Yes," Philip replied bravely. " Ya Amerikanets 
. . . puteshestvennik (traveller) and," indicating me, 
" sudarynya my j ena." 

" Da, da," assented the monk, shaking his head wisely, 
" nova jena," at which we all laughed. I think he offered 
his felicitations, though unfortunately we could not un- 
derstand them. At any rate we parted cordially, with 
English promises to post the photographs and Russian 
expressions of gratitude. 



72 Honeymooning in Russia 

At the gate, the droskyman slept on his box, his thick- 
brown beard sweeping to his belt. He roused as we 
stepped into the cab. 

" Chai," directed Philip, " soup, butterbrod." Where- 
upon we jogged out the entrance and made for a lunch- 
ing place. 

We paid Vanka and added " na chai " (tea money, 
more often vodka money!), but when we came out again 
his now familiar countenance greeted us. 

" Such devotion as this is its own reward," declared 
Phil, moving towards the cab, and again motioning " any- 
where " as our destination. 

" I don't know that I quite like it," I expostulated 
under my breath, " but I presume it is all right." Down 
the Liteinoi Prospekt, along the Quay, over a bridge, our 
little mare sped like the wind. A pedlar of singing-birds 
stepped unconcernedly from under her very hoofs. 
"Beregissa!" (Take care!) shouted the driver to the 
careless vender of melody, and " Yukh ! Yukh ! " to his 
horse as we dashed on again. 

We came in view of wharves and masts. A small 
steamer from Christiania was loading with tallow; an- 
other from Helsingfors was deck-high with staves. At a 
distance we caught sight of the Zara's sister steaming 
up for her return to the Thames via Riga and Reval and 
Kiel. But on the whole it was not a point of extraor- 
dinary interest, and we were wondering why our guide 
had brought us hither when we saw across the inlet some 
great vessels on the ways. Their freshly-painted coning- 
towers proclaimed their kind. 

" It's the navy yard ! " exclaimed Philip, " and those 
are the new ships we were talking about. I suppose 



The Penalty of a Snap-Shot 73 

there is no use applying for a permit to see them at closer 
range." 

" No, the mere asking would mark us for suspicion*'* 

" Well, at least I can take a photograph, though it 
won't be very satisfactory at such a distance." He re- 
filled the camera, thrusting the half dozen films of the 
monk into a side pocket. The isvostchik was looking 
down the river, inattentive and indifferent, so I thought. 
But a gorodovoy came our way and stood a few feet off 
regarding us. 

" Philip," I whispered as I pretended to look into the 
finder, " there is a policeman watching. Are you sure it 
is not forbidden to take that picture? " 

" Why this one, my dear girl? The permit is in my 
inside pocket. Take it out if you want to and see if 
that has any effect upon your friend the gendarme." I 
made a pretence of looking over the little document 
printed in Russian script, made out to Gospodin Goug- 
gton, and signed by Petersburgh's chief of police. Still 
the policeman watched, while Vanka faced him and stared 
down the river. As Philip finished loading the kodak 
the sun peered over the edge of a cloud. 

" That's better \ Now I can make a snap-shot of it." 
With the click of the shutter I saw the cabby's hand 
go up, and then before my unbelieving eyes, one hand of 
the law fell upon the camera, the other upon Phil's shoul- 
der. He looked around impatiently and tried to shake 
off the gorodovoy's fingers. " What in thunder — ! " he 
began. I flourished the permit, feeling vaguely that that 
might help, but the gendarme ignored me and it, and 
spoke quickly to the droskyman. I thought the reply 
sounded as though the frowsy isvostchik gave an order 



74 Honeymooning in Russia 

instead of receiving one. The Quay was almost empty 
of people. Only a few dock-hands stood staring dumbly 
at the two foreigners about to be taken off to gaol. A 
scream for help expired in my throat. I looked at my 
husband. He was smiling. " It's alright, dear. We'll 
drive to the Embassy and have this fixed up in two 
shakes of a lamb's tail. Climb in!" I obeyed, crouch- 
ing on the little third seat of the cab while the police- 
man sat beside Phil. We crossed the bridge over which 
we had driven so gaily only a half hour before. It was 
Saturday afternoon and crowds of the " black people " 
from the mills were swarming by to the vapour baths. 
Suddenly I realised that, being Saturday, the Embassy 
staff would probably be out at some datcha or other for 
the week-end. We should be confined over Sunday, sep- 
arated probably, overrun with vermin and stifled with 
hot smells. Of course I intended to go with Philip if our 
week-end villa was to be the city prison. I spoke to him 
about the closed Embassy, whereupon the gorodovoy said 
something imperative which silenced me. I could see the 
idea of our being actually imprisoned had begun to worry 
my big dear. I put a hand on his knee and kept it there, 
despite the suspicious eyes of our captor, who seemed to 
fear that I might spell out a secret message with my 
finger tips. As we clattered through the warm July 
streets, all I had suspected of the omnipresent cabman 
and the grey-haired man came back to me. 

That we had actually been under the surveillance of 
the Secret Service ever since, perhaps before our arrival, 
I did not doubt; but why we two tourists had aroused 
their interest was as great a mystery as ever. Philip 
sat silent, with stern mouth and blazing eyes. We turned 



The Penalty of a Snap-Shot 75 

down by the Admiralty and past St. Izaak's square. 
They were taking us to Police Headquarters. The po- 
liceman's hand was upon Phil's arm as he paid the dros- 
kyman and we entered the doorway, passing the very 
soldier who had stood there the day we came to get our 
permit. 

Of the next ten minutes I have but a jumbled recollec- 
tion of curious eyes, stumbling stairways and reiterated 
questionings. Finally we stood before the superb crea- 
ture who had charmed us on that first day. Now he 
was impersonal, calm, chilling. 

We were the American tourists who came here for the 
permission to photograph. Yes, he remembered us dis- 
tinctly — in reply to Philip's appeal. Assuredly we 
might communicate with our Ambassador if we could find 
him or his assistants. This was the heated term: doubt- 
less they were out of the city. Our questions as to the 
reason for the arrest were ignored until our names, ages 
and occupation were recorded. Then the suave one said 
coldly, " You apparently have not read your permit, Mr. 
Houghton." Philip smiled. " Unfortunately I do not 
know your language as well as you know mine. I pre- 
sumed a permit signed by your excellency was sufficient 
to protect us from such experiences as this." 

" You pretend that you do not know you are expressly 
forbidden to photograph fortresses, navy yards and 
bridges ? " 

" I affirm that this is the first intimation of the fact 
that I have received." 

" You photographed this afternoon some vessels build- 
ing in the navy yard on the Neva. A week ago you 
would have taken a picture of the Petropaulovski Krepost 



76 Honeymooning in Russia 

had you not forgotten to supply yourself with necessary 
films." 

" May I ask if this is why ray wife and I are dragged 
here like a pair of criminals ? " 

" Of that we will advise you later, Mr. Houghton. In 
the meantime, is there someone to whom you would like 
to send a message? It is customary to allow this priv- 
ilege under such circumstances." 

" Jerry," I whispered, and Phil nodded. 

" I have an American friend at Strelna. If he is home 
he will come, but I am not sure that he has returned 
from Finland, where he has been on business. At any 
rate, I know no one else." An orderly pushed a pad of 
telegraph blanks and a pencil towards Philip, and he 
wrote : 

" Come to me if you can, old man. In trouble at Peters- 
burgh police headquarters. Joyce here with me. P. D. 
H." He put a ruble and the folded message into a mes- 
senger's hand. 

" Now, Mr. Houghton, if you will kindly let me have 
the keys to your luggage, we will make you as comfort- 
able as possible until your friend arrives, or you can 
furnish proof that your visit to Russia has no motive 
inimical to the Government." 

" Inimical to the Gov — I I am afraid I do not un- 
derstand. Madame and I are the merest tourists. If 
we have violated police laws by photographing some war- 
ships across the river, we are profoundly sorry. Any 
fine you suggest I will gladly pay to substantiate my re- 
gret, but as to any secret motive back of either the pho- 
tographing or our visit, why — I don't know what you 



The Penalty of a Snap-Shot 77 

are talking about ! " Philip's urbanity was beginning to 
wane. 

" I regret, Monsieur, that certain information received 
before your arrival compels me to doubt your statement. 
I trust before many days you may be able to clear your- 
self, however. It is unfortunate that in Russia one is 
presumed to be guilty until proven innocent." 

" Before many days — ! " I echoed, now half-faint with 
the growing terror of our position. The chief turned a 
calm eye upon me. 

"You will return to your hotel, if you please, Ma- 
dame. An officer will accompany you to search your 
luggage. You may bid your husband adieu." 

" But I don't want to say good-bye ! I am going to 
prison with him. Don't you know it is impossible for me 
to stay in a hotel and know my husband is here in gaol, in 
a Russian gaol, and we on our honeymoon, and I all alone, 
and — and — Philip," I sobbed, with my arms suddenly 
about his neck, " don't let them do it 1 There must be 
some other way. I can't go back alone to that room 
where we have been happy together, and leave you here. 
It is impossible — you must — Oh ! — " 

Hysterical women were no novelty to Petersburgh's po- 
lice chief. He smiled indulgently as Philip put me in a 
chair and tried tenderly to assist me to composure. 

" It's all right, dearest. Jerry will come. He'll know 
someone who will help us out of this. I'll be back with 
you to-night. Be a good girl. The hotel is not far 
away. If you go quietly they may be less hard on me." 
He kissed me despite the chief's cynical eyes. I got out 
of my chair, and said, " I am ready, your excellency." 



78 Honeymooning in Russia 

The orderly opened the door for me, but before I had 
crossed the threshold I turned back, woman-like. 
"You won't put him underground, Monsieur?" 
" No, Madame, I promise you. Until our suspicions 
are confirmed your husband shall experience no incon- 
venience." Phil's dear eyes looked after me as the door 
closed, and I preceded the officer down the well-remem- 
bered stairs. At the entrance, a memory flashed upon 
me: the picture of the youth struggling and crying be- 
tween the two unemotional policemen. 

Only the courier and the dvornik saw me enter the 
hotel with my escort. I tried to say something to the 
former, but a sob conquered the words. He was a kind- 
hearted soul and came to me instantly with an offer of 
help. So we three went upstairs. I sat by the window 
while the mild-mannered policeman turned out the con- 
tents of the steamer trunks and looked into pockets and 
table drawers. He took away a letter from the New 
York office written to Phil while we were in London. I 
thanked Fate that the word Russia did not enter there, 
for distortion is one of the main stocks in trade of the 
Third Section. " Spassibo, Sudarynya," he said politely 
as he put his heels together and made a deep bow. Then 
he turned the knob and left us. When I had poured my 
story into his sympathising ear, the courier also departed. 
I don't know what time it was that a knock interrupted 
my crying. I only remember I was so exhausted that I 
staggered a little as I crossed to the door, where I found 
a boy with his hands full of letters — letters from home, 
forwarded from London to the Credit Lyonnais, or sent 
directly here. They were the first we had had since our 
arrival, and as a hungry man eyes a feast, I scanned each 






w 

o 



The Penalty of a Snap-Shot 79 

post-mark as I stood in the doorway. When I glanced 
up, a gendarme was tramping the corridor and looking 
inquisitively at my precious packet. I stepped back 
hastily, shut tight the door, turned the key, and slipped 
the bolt. ... If they came for my blue and white 
and grey letters — they should find me prepared to re- 
sist ! With a lapf ul of missives I turned page after page, 
full of love and congratulations upon our marriage — 
and my husband in Petersburgh gaoll At that I fell to 
crying again. And so I read and cried and cried and 
read until a dinner arrived, ordered by the thoughtful 
interpreter below. But I could not eat, and sent the 
trays away to the disappointment of Dmitri, who looked 
at me with compassionate eyes. When he went out I 
heard him speak inquiringly to the gorodovoy in the hall. 
It was almost nine and I was pacing the room in lonely 
dismay when a quick tap sounded at the door. A wave 
of weakness swept me from crown to sole as I steadied 
myself by the table. "Who are you?" I cried, breath- 
less with fear. But it was Jerry who answered. I flew 
to the knob and dragged him in. " Have you seen him? 
Is there any hope? Will he be sent away? Oh, Jerry, 
Jerry, I am so frightened — why don't you answer? I 
know what they do in Russian prisons ; they torture and 
blind for less cause than we have given them. I have 
read all about it. Those students at Riga, don't you 
remember? And that countess who talked indiscreetly? 
There was nothing, really nothing, criminal against them, 
but a street-flogging and Siberia was what they got. 
What will they do to my poor boy? I shall go to the 
mines, or wherever they send him. Wives are allowed to 
follow their husbands into exile, aren't they? They 



80 Honeymooning in Russia 

can't discriminate against foreigners. . . . I'll ap- 
peal to the State Department ! " In my hysteria I saw 
Jerry go to the windows and close them. Then he put 
his hands on my shoulders and silenced me. 

" Steady there, little girl ! You shall go to Siberia if 
you want to, but not as the guest of the Government, 
unless I mistake the situation. It's going to be all right. 
You see if it isn't. Here's a note for you properly cen- 
sored (it ought to be fumigated as well!) I must go 
right back. I've sent off a dozen telegrams which are 
sure to catch someone who has enough influence to set 
the wheels going. Can you be brave a little longer? " 
By the time I was alone again I was quiet. Jerry's con- 
fidence of success and Phil's little note left me lighter- 
hearted. (I didn't know till later that he had been con- 
fined with thieves and drunken muzhiks in a cell alive with 
insects.) I bathed my eyes, trying not to see the dear 
masculine belongings on the lavatory; next I tidied my 
hair and put on a fresh blouse and skirt. If Phil came 
back, the reception committee must not be too forlornly 
rumpled. Once dressed, there was nothing more to do. 
I peeked out at my guard. If he had spoken English, or 
I Russian, I should have taken a chair into the hall and 
found comfort in his company. He wore a half -apolo- 
getic expression which I took for commiseration. Per- 
haps he had no evil intentions about my letters after all. 
I could not imagine him terrorising suspects, and, as a 
matter of fact, it is not this branch of the police which 
makes the midnight domiciliary searches, and hounds un- 
fortunates, but the Third Section of the army. I left 
the door open. A maid went by with a water jug. She 
glanced in at me, kindly, but even kindness hurt. A soli- 



The Penalty of a Snap-Shot 81 

tary traveller passed by to his room, ignorant of the 
tragedy in number 57. I heard a young man and his 
wife laughing in an adjacent apartment, and sprang up 
to close the door. Their light-heartedness smote me like 
a knell. This time last evening, Phil and I had been 
laughing together; to-night he was in the toils of the 
Russian police, and I was alone, alone waiting for and 
fearful of the news which might come any minute. I had 
hours ago discarded the idea of cabling home. Until 
we had made every effort here mothers and sisters and 
fathers and brothers must be spared anxiety, if possible. 
Then I wondered if it would be in the New Y°rk evening 
papers : 

" St. Petersburgh, Russia — Philip Houghton, Euro- 
pean manager of a well-known corporation, was arrested 
here with his wife this afternoon. His friends are hope- 
ful of freeing him immediately, but he is now in the 
Central Office Gaol and — " A hail from Jerry inter- 
rupted my morbid fancies. It was just quarter of 
twelve. 

" He's coming," he gasped, " as soon as he finishes 
signing something. He says you are not to touch him 
until he has changed his clothes, and please will you order 
a bath." He was off again. I ran to the wall handle 
and set the bell jangling, then began excitedly to over- 
haul drawers for clean undergarments. Domna's broad 
face presented itself in answer to the bell. 

" Pajaluista, vanna for Gospodin Houghton seichas," 
I stammered in joyful confusion. 

" Da, da," she replied, standing still, " vanna ? " 

" Yes, yes, yes," impatiently, " and hurry ! A bath, a 
hot bath for the returned convict. And towels. Do you 



82 Honeymooning in Russia 

understand? " I indicated the bathroom and pushed her 
down the hall. 

Fifteen minutes later he came, but he put out his hands 
to ward me off. 

" Don't, darling ! " he begged. " Don't come near me, 
please don't. I am not fit for you to touch." In vain 
I protested that fleas and odours had no terrors ; he was 
determined, and I had to content myself just hovering 
in the distance with a leaping heart and full eyes. 

" Enter, Salvator Magnus ! " declaimed Philip, as Jerry 
knocked. " Have you ordered the supper? I dined on 
sour bread and cucumbers and my appetite grows apace." 

" Haste thee to the bania, my lord. The feast waits 
upon thy laving." 

" Vale ! " sang out the togaed gentleman from the 
threshold, with a change of linen under his arm. " I shall 
return 6 within the hour.' " 

Jerry, who had looked into the loathsome cell, thought 
an hour's scrubbing might not be excessive. 

" But you should have seen him, Joyce, touching el- 
bows with the rakings of the street without the lift of an 
eyebrow. He's a thoroughbred ! " 

"Only an American would have taken it that way," I 
said proudly, fussing over the table already laid by our 
delighted Dmitri. " In the same situation can't you 
imagine a Teuton exploding with indignation ? " 

" Or a Frenchman challenging the whole service? " 

" Or a Spaniard apoplectic with ire? " 

" Or an Englishman defying the Russian Government 
and contemplating a letter to The Times? " 

I besieged him with questions. He had returned to 
Strelna from Viborg at half-past seven and had found 



The Penalty of a Snap-Shot 83 

Phil's message waiting. He reached the police station 
in less than an hour and he had seen the chief immedi- 
ately. Finally, a wire to a friend in the Department of 
Ways and Communications had brought that important 
personage at nine-forty-five, and with him the chief had 
gone into a prolonged sitting ; Philip being sent for, he had 
been questioned mysteriously as to his knowledge of steel 
processes and armour-plate. 

" Of course," said Jerry, " Phil easily explained that, 
but not, I was surprised to see, to his excellency's satis- 
faction. • He sent for a " detective. Phil swears it was 
your inquisitive cabman, minus a false beard. For 
at least ten minutes they jabbered in Russian, while 
Phil and Prince K. talked horses as unconcernedly 
as if they were at a club. Finally the chief turned 
to the Prince, an awfully good fellow, and asked in 
French if he would be sponsor for Phil's behaviour dur- 
ing the rest of your stay, to which he got an emphatic 
response from His Princeship. I had told him before he 
saw the chief that the whole affair was preposterous, that 
your visit to Petersburgh had a far more interesting ani- 
mus than spying upon the Russians, and that there was 
no more question of your innocence than there was of 
my own. As a proof of his belief in you he invited us 
all, right before the chief, to join a house-party at his 
villa near Peterhof , and to remain as his guests until you 
left for Moscow. That seemed to impress his excellency, 
and the upshot of it was Phil was practically paroled in 
care of Prince K. He is to send in for us to-morrow 
afternoon, and now you'll have a rattling good chance to 
prove what I have told you, that the good-class Russian 
is the most hospitable creature on earth." 



84 Honeymooning in Russia 

" Oh, but a Prince, Jerry ! And we've got no clothes." 

" He understands all about it. You are merely trip- 
ping it, and came, like seasoned travellers, with as little 
baggage as possible. You never met a nicer fellow. 
You'll feel at home in a minute." 

Of course I knew the title of a Muscovy Prince did not 
carry with it the prestige borne by the same title in Eng- 
land or Germany. Still the idea of a Russian Prince as 
host was romantic enough and, because I was a woman, 
I fell to planning immediately just how I was to amplify 
my lean wardrobe. 

Dmitri arrayed the tempting zakuska on a side-table. 
He brought chicken cutlets a la Tor j ok under their sil- 
ver cover; he dressed the salad, and uncorked a bottle of 
Massandra. Then, as the minutes passed and the hero 
of the feast did not return, the painstaking chelovek grew 
worried. " The wine had been chilled to just the right 
degree — and the sauce for the cutlets — Madame \ 
Ah-h ! " as Philip appeared. At the second entrance of 
the tragedy's chief actor his arms went about me in a 
long embrace. As I cried a little on his shoulder, I felt 
exactly like one of Repin's pictures, " The Return of the 
Exile." Dmitri coughed and began to rearrange the 
table, while Jerry almost succeeded in slipping noiselessly 
through the door. Phil caught at a coat-tail and drew 
him back. 

" Just a moment ! I have something to say to you, 
you great tawny-headed trump. Do you realise that I 
should still be hobnobbing with that prison rabble if 
you had not turned the trick for me? How do you 
think I am ever going to thank you ? " Their handgrasp 
was good to see. 







H 

i— i 
P 

03 

o 

w 

g 



The Penalty of a Snap-Shot 85 

" Who played the Samaritan to me, I'd like to know? " 
demanded Jerry. " To think," he added as at last we 
seated ourselves, " to think that we should never have 
met here, that I might have expired in the road and could 
not have done you this service, if you had not gone just 
that day to Lake Ladoga ! " 

" At which I am reminded of a letter post-marked 
Philadelphia in that pile on the stand. Do you think you 
can find it? " In a moment Cicely's sweetheart was 
eagerly going through the packet. 

" Here it is ! The same grey paper and dashy writing." 

" Why don't you kiss it? " teased Philip, spearing a 
mouthful of cutlet. 

" Better than that, I'll read it, with your permission, 
Joyce?" which he proceeded to do while we ate hungrily 
■ — I with my left hand ! Finally Phil demanded a share, 
so Jerry began : ' If you are really going to Russia, as 
your card suggests, how I shall envy you. Of course you 
have not forgotten who is there, near Petersburgh? 
The address is Gerard Drake, Esq., at the tenth verst 
stone (whatever that may mean) on the Strelna Road, 
Petersburgh. Be sure to send him word the minute you 
receive this, or have Phil look him up at the Yacht Club. 
How strange it seems to be giving you these directions ! 
Sometimes I think I simply cannot wait another week to 
see him. He is the dear — ' Oh, I say, I can't go on 
with this part," faltered Jerry. 

" Well, read it to yourself then," rallied Philip. " We 
know already what she and we think of you, don't we, 
jena? " He slipped an arm about my shoulders and 
drew my cheek to his. " Did it want to go straight to 
gaol with its husband? " he cajoled. 



86 Honeymooning in Russia 

" Yes, or to Siberia or the Turcoman Steppes. The 
muzhik wife does not desert her exiled husband, why 
should I? " 

" Silly ! Did you really contemplate for one moment 
the dire chance that I should be deported? What's the 
use of being a United States citizen? We might have 
been given twenty-four hours to leave the country, 
but — " Jerry leaped from his chair. 

" Oh, do listen to this ! Did you know it all these 
hours, Joyce Houghton, and keep it from me? " He was 
again devouring the page before him. 

"Know what?" we both implored. 

" Know what ? " he shouted hilariously. " Do you 
want to know what? Cicely and her mother are coming 
abroad in August, and I am to meet them in Poland. 
You were not to tell, as ' they were just going to wire me 
to come to the Hotel Bristol in Warsaw to meet friends.' " 

" Oh, Jerry, and I let you read the letter, and now it's 
all spoiled ! " 

" I think from Jerry's face he does not agree with 
you," said Philip, as he ignited his cigarette at Dmitri's 
match-flame. " I disapprove of these feminine surprises. 
Anticipation is half the pleasure. Serves Cicely right." 
I looked at him and smiled. 

" O man, thy name is inconsistency. Hast forgotten 
a June day at Carlin's ? " Jerry looked up beseechingly. 

" May I take this with me ? I am going to get a room 
here for the night. You shall have it again in the morn- 
ing." He took out his watch. It was three o'clock. 
People were beginning to come back from the gardens. 
Dawn was peeking around the edge of the curtain. 

" I don't know whether to say ' Good-night ' or 4 Good- 



The Penalty of a Snap-Shot 87 

morning,' but at any rate I must be off." We followed 
him to the door. The policeman was gone, and with 
him, the spectre of the day's drama. 

The sun was high before we went to sleep. There were 
so many questions to be asked and answered, so much 
vain guessing as to the real reason of the arrest. We 
were not to hear until several weeks later the true inter- 
pretation of the chief's cryptic utterances. 



cgj & 



Chapter VII 

A HOUSE-PARTY AT PETERHOV 

kJF course we had planned from the first to see Peter- 
hov and the gardens, going down by boat and making a 
day of it. As we drove in Prince K.'s carriage out the 
coast road to the Petersburgh suburbs, we indulged in 
comparisons altogether favourable to our present mode 
of transportation. The villa at which we were to be 
guests was near the palace park. Its windows and bal- 
conies, curtained with flowers and vines, glimpsed the 
Gulf of Finland. Jerry had already explained that the 
Princess K. was in Switzerland with a sick baby, and 
that for the time, her place as hostess and chaperone was 
filled by the wife of an English correspondent. At the 
door we were so graciously welcomed that I understood 
at once Jerry's liking for our impromptu host. He was 
a man of perhaps forty, with a charming smile and an 
ingenuous manner which gave him the air of a fresh- 
hearted boy. 

" Ah, Mrs. Houghton, it was good of you to accept this 
so unconventional invitation. If my wife had been at 
home — but I am sure Mr. Drake has explained," turn- 
ing from me to Philip and to Jerry with both hands ex- 
tended in frank cordiality. " We shall be quite informal. 
We Russians dislike ceremony at our datchas." I tried 

to say something of his great kindness to Philip and me 

88 



A House-Party at Peterhov 89 

on the previous evening, but he protested that he had 
done nothing. 

" My regret was for you, Madame, as well as for your 
husband. It was an accident, a misunderstanding. I 
will try to make you forget it," he said simply. Servants 
had appeared to take our hand baggage and to show us 
our sweet airy rooms overlooking the Gulf. 

Mrs. Jordan, our hostess pro tempore, was waiting for 
me as I followed Philip down the stairs. 

" You are Mrs. Houghton," she said brightly, holding 
out her hand. " We are all so sorry about last night. 
If my husband had only been in town he would have been 
so glad to have been of assistance, but you could hardly 
have had anyone more capable of unravelling the tangle 
than our host. Isn't he delightful? I am sure you 
think so already." She was one of those cheery little 
souls, with always more to say than there was time for. 
In a moment we were friends. We crossed the lawn to 
join the other guests, who were having tea in a small 
birch grove. Phil and the Prince came to meet us, bring- 
ing with them a very blond young Lieutenant Kizovsky: 
so we five made a tea-party of our own, munching pas- 
ties, drinking chai and finding much to say about the 
brilliant weather, the warships in the Gulf, and the pleas- 
ures already planned for the week. 

At dinner I sat at the right of the Prince. Philip took 
in the wife of a naval captain. As the latter sat facing 
me, I found myself romancing about him every time I 
glanced at his swart, high-bred face. While our host 
conversed with the extremely pretty wife of the captain, 
and Phil talked aeronautics and motors with a French 
miniaturist, my neighbour, the lieutenant, told me the 



90 Honeymooning in Russia 

story of Sheikh-Ahary, the romantic captain. Born a 
Beduin, he had been reared in Damascus, and had been 
sent later to the Naval School at Petersburgh because of 
his love for the sea. When he lost his heart to an ad- 
miral's daughter, their affair was vastly disapproved un- 
til her relations had seen him, a handsome youth in an 
ensign's uniform. Then they understood their kins- 
woman's love for her Beduin sweetheart, and did not re- 
fuse their consent to an early marriage. This first wife 
had died, and not long since he had married again, also 
a Russian lady. Meanwhile, his foster country had vied 
with other nations in heaping medals, orders and titles 
upon him. During the late war he had performed not- 
able service for Russia, and at all times his rare spirit 
and loyalty had endeared him to the country to which he 
had given allegiance. As an hereditary Sheikh, or Duke, 
of a Beduin tribe, he was venerated in his native land, to 
which he frequently travelled to visit his mother, who still 
lived upon the family estate in Arabia. Thousands of 
orange and olive trees brought him yearly wealth. 

"Do you not find him handsome? " asked my narrator. 

" Very," I enthused, regarding his attractive features 
and fine brown hands. " So gentle and so strong." The 
lieutenant turned to the frail girl who sat at his right. 

" You will like to hear these things of your father, is it 
not so, Liubka? " Then I remembered that this was the 
lieutenant's betrothed, and that she had been introduced 
as Mademoiselle Ahary. Her eyes were remarkable, un- 
fathomably sweet and melancholy. Through her veins 
flowed the blood of a splendid race, cultured, haughty, 
and fine-grained. Ages ago they gave science, poetry 
and geography to the world. Their fame for true hos- 




O 

5 

> 

o 

H 



A House-Party at Peterhov 91 

pitality has established a metaphor : " As hospitable as 
an Arab." Temperate, sentimental, strong-hearted, they 
possess a fascination individual and unexcelled. And 
this young daughter of the race — I could well under- 
stand the adoration in the Rucsian's eyes and in the eyes 
of her father as he regarded her across the table. She 
was the sort men of her own tribe would set upon a horse 
and follow into battle, heartened by her war songs or 
condoled by her tears. 

But she and Mrs. Jordan were prosaically discussing a 
shopping-tour for Monday, while Jerry leaned back in 
his chair and smiled with masculine indulgence at mention 
of arshins of lace and the best place for gloves. 

" Would you go with us, Mrs. Houghton ? " said Mile. 
Ahary. " We are planning to go in early and return 
after luncheon in time to rest before the sail to Cron- 
stadt." I accepted with alacrity, realising the oppor- 
tunity this would afford me to make additions to my 
wardrobe. 

The morning found the men off for a swim in the Baltic 
before we feminines had taken tea. Mile. Lecrey, the 
portraitist, had a sitting with a Grand Duchess and we 
put her down at a palace door on our way to the station. 
Arrived at the Gostinny Dvor, we strolled from one ar- 
caded stall to another, and up the Perspective to still 
more modish silver and embroidery shops. I found a 
darling lapis cravat pin for Philip and a steel-studded 
Circassian belt for myself. But my search for blouses 
and dresses was not so satisfactory, though we canvassed 
modistes' and shops until noon. After much bargaining 
I selected an embroidered linen and a thin blouse or so, 
and a dinner gown trimmed with Vologda lace. Then 



92 Honeymooning in Russia 

we went to luncheon at the Hotel de France, where the 
foreign correspondents gather every day for the noon 
meal to discuss the newest news. We were hardly seated 
at a window table when a man, unmistakably American, 
came over to speak to Mrs. Jordan. She introduced him 
as Mr. Colton. 

" I supposed you had gone south with your husband on 
that Pall Mall assignment," he said as he pulled out a 
chair. " You are such an indefatigable correspondent- 
ess." 

" Oh, I should have wilted down in Malo Russie this 
time of year. And the dust, and the unthinkable hotels? 
How are the chicks ? " 

" As lusty as usual." 

"And the wife?" 

" Not so lusty as usual. The heat fags her and the 
baby is teething." 

" Here," said Mrs. Jordan, addressing me, " you see 
the father of six, born severally in America, Germany 
and Russia, and speaking almost as many languages as 
there are children." 

" How entertaining they must be ! " 

" Their parents find them so," the father added mod- 
estly. 

" When may we come to see them and the Madame? " 
asked Mrs. Jordan, as he arose. " We are all at Prince 
K.'s villa. Mrs. Houghton and her husband are com- 
patriots of yours." 

" So I guessed. In fact, Jerry Drake's a friend of 
ours, and he spoke of you when I met him at the Ad- 
miralty the other day. If you'll do us the pleasure to 
have tea and muffins with us some afternoon, I'll promise 



A House-Party at Peterhov 93 

you a sight of all the little Coltons and a rare view of 
the Gulf." Mrs. Jordan set a day then and there. 
" And that precious baby," she called after him, " tell 
her not to smash any more Grand Ducal hearts ! " Made- 
moiselle and I expressed our curiosity. 

" I thought it was too cunning. The sixth little Col- 
ton, aged three, was out with her nurse a few days ago, 
walking through the palace park at Strelna. Down one 
of the paths came the Grand Duke Constantine and the 
Crown Princess of Greece. The baby, she's the sweetest 
gold-headed sprite, was careering up and down the walk 
and laughing like a lark. His Highness stopped and 
spoke to her in Russian and she lisped back something 
about her little fistful of posies, and held one up to him. 
The maid, who recognised the Tsar's uncle, was simply 
overcome with awe, but not so Miss Colton. In Russian, 
she and the Duke continued an animated conversation 
which ended in his kissing her, and accepting a wilted 
flower from her moist little hand. Wasn't it cunning? " 

" Too cunning ! " we agreed. 

" Will you please tell me," I said as we walked up the 
Nevsky to finish our shopping, " why so many Russian 
maidens go about with their faces tied up in a handker- 
chief? Is it mumps or toothache?" 

" Toothache," replied Mademoiselle Ahary. " It is a 
Russian malady. " I think it is because we have so cold 
winters and so hot summers, and few good dentists. The 
poorer people pray to a special saint about it." 

" A touch of misery makes all akin," I exclaimed. " I 
once saw a little swollen-faced Japanese girl tying a 
prayer at the roadside shrine of a toothache god." 

"Ah, you have been in Japan! And is it so very 



94 Honeymooning in Russia 

beautiful? I do not like to think so, because they are 
our enemies," she confessed naively. 

" If the country is beautiful, the people are not. I 
found them dishonourable, avaricious and hypocritical 
— brave, of course, and awfully clean, but I don't like 
them." 

" Yes, unfortunately, very brave and very, very wise. 
My father has told me much." 

" Do you ever go to Arabia? " I asked, as Mrs. Jordan 
left us to examine some linens. 

" Oh, many times. My grandmother is in Damascus. 
She sends often for me. You would love our Arabia, and 
I should like you to see my father riding with his Bed- 
uins." 

" And yet he loves Russia? " 

" Yes, it is in Russia that he has made his career, and 
it is here that he married my mother." 

" And now you are to marry a Russian too ? " Her 
olive cheeks flushed prettily and she dropped her lids. 

" In two months. We shall have our lune de miel under 
my grandmother's olive trees." She raised her eyes and 
touched my sleeve. " I hope we may be as happy as 
you." 

" And why not ? Russians make good husbands, and 
your fiance adores you." Mrs. Jordan proved herself 
so expert a bargainer that we were soon on our way 
back to the Peter hov station. 

" There is one thing I do miss dreadfully in Russia," I 
said, as we jolted through the glaring streets. " Do you 
know what three American women shoppers would con- 
sider absolutely necessary to a trip like this ? " 

"Tea?" they both ventured. 



A House-Party at Peterhov 95 

" No, ice cream soda." 

" Oh, I've heard of that. At Fuller's in London they 
mix it," from Mrs. Jordan. 

" At Fuller's they do indeed mix it. They also attempt 
it at a shop in Paris, where they put a dab of creme glace 
in a glass of salty mineral water." 

" How should it be done? " queried Mademoiselle. 

" Well, the hand-maiden at Huyler's or Allegretti's 
would first pour into a thin glass a syrup of fruit or 
chocolate or coffee. Then she would spoon from a freezer 
a portion of ice cream, and froth it all over with sizzly 
soda water from a frosty fountain. And that's our na- 
tional drink. Don't you like the sound of it? " 

" Like it? I am parched for want of it!" wailed Mrs. 
Jordan. As our cab paused in the press of the traffic, 
a street-seller, mocking our thirst, thrust a bucket of 
salt cucumbers under our noses. 

" Agurtzia, Sudarynya ? " he wheedled. 

" Begone with your pickles, you wretched man," pro- 
tested Mrs. Jordan, putting up her hands. 

" Yes, begone to Amerique and bring us an ice cream 
soda ! " echoed Mademoiselle. As they belaboured him 
in English the pedlar stared bewildered, unable to fathom 
their vehemence. His crest-fallen expression as he turned 
away, sent us all diving into our hand-bags for kopeks, 
which he scrambled to catch as they rolled between the 
cobblestones and under the horses' feet. 

" Oh, poor man ! " sighed the little Ahary. " See how 
happy he now looks over his ten kopeks." 

" Nearly as much as he would earn all day selling his 
tiresome cucumbers. Either he will work no more this 
afternoon or the surplus will go into vodka." 



96 Honeymooning in Russia 

" Mrs. Jordan the pessimist ! " 

" No, just Mrs. Jordan the truth-say er. The laziness 
and intemperance of her muzhiks are the brakes upon 
Russia's progress." 

"But they are paid so little when they do work," de- 
fended Mademoiselle. " How much do you suppose this 
isvostchik receives each month from his employer?" 

" Oh, not more than eight rubles, I daresay." 

" Not a kopek more, and he must drive, drive all day 
and much of the night to earn that. Russia cannot hope 
to become like the rest of Europe until things are made 
better between her labourers and the ones who hire them." 

" Well, my dear," said Mrs. Jordan briskly, as we 
stepped out of the drosky, " you are half Russian and 
ought to know better than I, but what little I have learned 
of batrak and muzhik has destroyed what sympathy I 
had for them when we came here." The little Arabian 
shook her head sadly. 

" Ah, I am afraid there are others to blame for his 
bad habits besides the poor workman himself." The 
mild discussion ended as we sought seats in the drawling 
Peterhov train. 

A sun-burned Philip saluted us at the station. 

" The Prince said you were sure to come on this train, 
so I drove in with the linega." 

"Oh, Philip!" I remonstrated, "that jaunting-car af- 
fair? Don't you think the Petersburgh pavements are 
sufficient aids to digestion ? " I climbed up beside him 
and disposed my boxes at our feet, while Mrs. Jordan 
and Mademoiselle sat back to back in the rear. 

" Why were you so long? " complained my husband. 

" Did you miss me ? " 



A House-Party at Peterhov 97j 

" I don't believe you missed me! " 

" Well, I felt as though just half of me were there, if 
that's missing you. There was an endless number of 
things I wanted you to see. Will you go in with me 
some day before we go, to see the provision stalls and 
bazaars ? " 

" To-morrow, if you say so." 

" No, not to-morrow. It's Tsarskoe Selo to-morrow 
and Pavlovsk in the evening. Oh," as I caught a glimpse 
of a speeding boat, " do you suppose that is the Tsar's 
courier? " 

" Yes," said Mrs. Jordan with her back to the Gulf, " if 
the craft is painted black and is going like the wind." 

" Then the Emperor must be at Peterhov." 

" The Journal de Petersbourg announced that he 
was back from Poltava and was leaving immediately for 
Cowes." 

We saw the royal yacht Standart as we steamed in 
our host's Viuga (Snow-storm) towards Cronstadt, 
where we were to dine with a nephew of the Prince. At 
the landing he met us, the drollest little fat lieutenant. 
In the garden of one of the military clubs he had ordered 
a repast over which, with music and good fellowship, we 
lingered until nearly eleven. Repeatedly his uncle, 
Prince K., protested that we had a long sail before us, 
but there was always a new joke to be recounted or a 
choice wine still untasted. 

" Madame," lamented the lieutenant, seeing my full 
glass, " you do not find it to your palate. Aha ! I re- 
member, there is a lighter vintage in the cellar. Garcon, 
vite ! " despite my protest. Or, " Will it be the almonds 
next, Mademoiselle?" or, "Another cigarette, Monsieur 



98 Honeymooning in Russia 

le Capitain? " The limit of his purse does not bound the 
hospitality of the average Russian. All he has, and un- 
fortunately sometimes more than he has, is at the disposal 
of his guest. A whim is a command; a preference, how- 
ever slightly expressed, is sufficient to move armies. 

" Oh," expostulated the lieutenant, pained at the refusal 
of the men to join him in another glass, " you should see 
how great thirst had His Highness, Prince Henry of 
Prussia, whom I had the honour to attend when the Rus- 
sian officers entertained the German squadron at Vladi- 
vostok. Champagne, champagne, champagne — all morn- 
ing, all night ! I, — I do not like champagne. It 
is overrated insipidness. But I must be courteous. 
When His Highness desire champagne, so must I drink 
with him. Ah, but I had a sickness when that week was 
past ! " placing a plump hand on his forehead, " a sick- 
ness here which for days made me to drink, will you be- 
lieve it, mon oncle, nothing, nothing but milk? " 

He was inexpressibly amusing with his protruding 
cheeks, and twinkly little brown eyes, his round short 
figure and his unquenchable joviality. I haven't a doubt 
that at tins moment he is making someone laugh. 

" If you will but do me the happiness to say that you 
and Monsieur will come again," he exclaimed as I ex- 
pressed my enjoyment and said good-night, " then I shall 
believe you did not find yourself too wearied ! " 

The great forts on Kettle Island and the city of Cron- 
stadt loomed still and black as we put off for Peterhov. 
In the bow, Philip and I watched the star-shine in the 
water, and were not sorry that, through apparent mis- 
fortune, we had come under the " protection " of a Rus- 
sian Prince. 



C£J Cg3 C£J 

Chapter VIII 

A MORNING IN THE ROYAL NURSERIES 

J. HE park at Tsarskoe Selo maintains its fame as the 
best-kept park in existence through the labours of over 
six hundred men. As we motored through the immacu- 
late grounds we saw the gardeners literally picking up 
petals as they fell; rearranging pebbles in the paths; 
clipping spears of bordering grass invisibly higher than 
their neighbours. 

" Don't you think," said Philip, who was driving, " that 
this prim beauty calls for eau de cologne in the tank, in- 
stead of petrol? I'm sure the Tsar won't like our smell- 
ing up his park this way." 

The merest quip met a ready laugh, for we were a very 
frivolous septette — an Englishwoman, a French made- 
moiselle, an Arabian, a Russian lieutenant, a Bavarian 
mine-owner, and two Americans. The villa's host had 
excused himself for a day's business in town, and Jerry 
had gone complaining into Esthonia. At a pavilion on 
a picture-pond were mourning swans which were years ago 
substituted for the white ones once fed by the long-dead 
hand of a king's daughter. As we glided around the 
curves of the perfect roads, Turkish kiosks, Swiss dairy 
barns, Chinese pillars, doll-houses for royal babies, a 
bijou theatre, bridges, cascades, rockeries formed suc- 
cessive pictures. The imperial residence, especially be- 
loved by the reigning family, extends along a terrace 

overlooking the park. Its interior is gilded and carved, 

99 



100 Honeymooning in Russia 

though we did not tarry long enough to see half its beau- 
ties. Guards were watching at every corner, so photo- 
graphing was out of the question, though we had brought 
with us the adventuresome camera, which Prince K.'s in- 
fluence had saved from Government ownership. There 
were vistas in that princely park which I should like to 
have imprinted upon a film. 

One of Russia's renowned pianists, whom I had heard 
in New York, was billed to play a Chaikovsky concerto 
with the Pavlovsk orchestra that evening. This was 
enough to lure us thither, though we Houghtons were 
warned that the swarms of Russians we should see would 
not be of the " upper class." It was interesting to ob- 
serve the appreciative attention given to the serious pro- 
gramme by the audience, which was plainly " commercial " 
in its aspect. Bearded and booted shopkeepers took turns 
holding the babies while their stout wives drank tea and 
applauded with enthusiasm. At the finale of the concerto, 
tea and babies were both forgotten in the tumult of ap- 
probation which arose. 

" Imagine Chaikovsky at Coney Island ! " I whispered 
to Phil. 

A morning or so later, the household puppy and I 
were playing an exciting game of tag upon the lawn 
when Mile. Lecrey came down the steps with a tin box 
under her arm. In her pretty French way she said : 

" Is it perhaps that you would find pleasure to walk 
with me? I go to the park." I assented quickly enough 
and ran in to tell Phil, eating a lazy breakfast, that I 
should be back before long. 

" And what am I to do in the meantime? " 



A Morning in the Royal Nurseries 101 

" You are to go on draining the samovar and crunch- 
ing toast until your American breakfast appetite is sat- 
isfied; then you may walk in the direction of the palace 
park, find your wife and bring her home through the 
birches. In about an hour? " 

" In an hour or so." 

" Well, don't fail to find me. It will be divine in the 
sun-spotted birch-wood this lovely morning. Good-bye." 

" Good-bye, and have a good time." 

" Yes, thank you. Good-bye." 

Mademoiselle and I sauntered along a broad shady 
road, revelling in the clear air, looking out to the tran- 
quil shining Gulf, picking some wild flowers, chatting 
congenially. She was expressive and interesting, and 
extraordinarily gifted in miniature painting. I knew 
that she numbered the Grand Duchess Elizabeth, widow 
of Sergius, among her patrons, and that her vogue at 
court was undisputed. 

" Are you going to sketch? " I asked as we came upon 
a pretty forest road. " This would make a perfect water- 
colour." 

" You are right, Madame. These woods make me 
think of the landscapes about Cernay near my Paris." 

" Cernay-la-ville? I have coached through there. Do 
you know the little Hotel Avril on the little village 
square? " 

" Ah, well, Madame ! And its stone walls within cov- 
ered with paintings by artist guests ? " 

" And the arbour at the rear, where one eats fat 
chicken and tender salad? And the wee shop across the 
way where the old lady sells sugar almonds in cornu- 
copias ? " 



102 Honeymooning in Russia 

" Yes, yes, and the road to Chevreuse and Dampierre, 
and the spawning ponds of M. le Baron Rothschild, and 
the so quaint keeper with the turkey feather in his hat? 
Many days I have sketched in those woods." 

" Where shall you sketch to-day? " We had passed the 
vista of road and trees, and not far ahead were the yellow 
walls of Peterhof. 

" To-day I shall not sketch trees but four flower-faces. 
You shall see ! " she said, smiling enigmatically. Once 
inside the park gates, we turned down a walk to the left. 
Through the trees, palace roofs showed green or gold. 
We crossed small streams and passed summer houses of 
Dutch and French design. As we appoached the private 
grounds of the imperial residence, Mademoiselle looked at 
her watch. 

" We have still twelve minutes," she said, sitting down 
beside a carp pond. " Should you much like to know 
where we are going and whom we shall see ? " 

" Immensely." 

" I feared you might not come if I told you before. 
The Grand Duchess Elizabeth is here with her sister, the 
Tsaritsa. I have made of her several miniatures, and al- 
ways she has desired Her Imperial Highness to sit to 
me. But the Empress is shy. She will not consent to 
be painted. The Grand Duchess Serge despairs. One 
day I remark the resemblance between Her Highness and 
the Tsaritsa. The features are almost the same. It is 
only the expression which differs. And then the Grand 
Duchess Elizabeth say to me, clapping her hands quickly, 
' I know what we shall do. When next I go to stay 
with my sister, you shall come to see me. I will ask her 
to let me present you. You shall closely regard her 



A Morning in the Royal Nurseries 103 

expression, the difference between us, and then you shall 
make a miniature of her by changing one of mine 1 ' You 
see? So I have been sent for to do this for my good 
patroness. A servant brought a message last night when 
we were dining. I tell your husband at dejeuner when you 
had gone out. He beg me to bring you. And now you 
shall see the Tsaritsa." 

I wore no hat and had on a tailored linen. "But I 
can't see royalty in this — I can't ! I'll wait here for you. 
And you knew all the time, and Phil ! " 

" Ah, Madame, you will come ? I have used the tele- 
phone before leaving to ask of Madame la Grande Duch- 
esse the privilege to bring you. She has sent back word 
by her maid-in- waiting that she will be happy to receive 
you. It will not be etiquette now to refuse, and wait out- 
side the palace." 

" You ingenuous little plotter ! You might at least 
have told me to put on a hat and gloves. And that naive 
husband of mine ! Well, Empresses and Grand Duchesses 
are human. Perhaps they won't mind my ' court cos- 
tume.' Am I tidy? Is my hair all blowy? I'm as ex- 
cited as can be." 

Mademoiselle pulled at my cravat and gave my hair 
a pat. 

" You look — charmante — tidy, if you like. Shall we 
go on? " 

As we entered the private grounds I reminded the little 
artist of what she had said about the flower-faces. 

" They are those of the four daughters of the Emperor 
and the Empress. Their aunt wishes me to pose them 
for a miniature. It will not take long to line in the 
grouping." 



104 Honeymooning in Russia 

In the red-panelled room where we waited for Mile. 
Lecrey's patroness, there were pots of blooming begonias, 
photographs framed in silver and wood, tabourets and 
hassocks, wide wicker chairs, and a chintz-covered couch 
riotous with pink and white and red pillows. On one of 
them lay a furry ball, an imperial kitten! When the 
Grand Duchess Elizabeth entered, she gave her protegee 
a kiss on either cheek, and, at a word of introduction, held 
out a slim hand to me. She was informality itself, a gra- 
cious figure in black. Her face was marked with trouble, 
but was nevertheless winning and almost beautiful. For 
quite fifteen minutes we conversed about the bright morn- 
ing, the cholera's increase, the grey kitten. She men- 
tioned our host, who, as chamberlain to the Tsar, was 
much in favour with the imperial family. " Perhaps you 
knew that he commanded the automobile flotilla during the 
late war? There are some photographs here somewhere." 
With Mademoiselle's help she searched among a pile of 
books on a table shelf, and found an album marked 
" Photographien." Then the sister of the Empress of 
Russia came and sat beside me on the couch and turned 
over the pages of amateur prints. There was the auto- 
mobile flotilla with Prince K. driving a big " six," small 
Grand Duchesses on their donkeys, the Tsarevitch on a 
velocipede, a laughing soldier, a view of the fountains 
playing — some cloudy prints, some light-struck, some out 
of focus. " My sister took many of these, and here is 
one of herself taken by my brother-in-law." At that 
moment " herself " opened the door and came in. We 
stood up as she crossed the room to offer us her hand 
in acknowledgment of her sister's introductions. She was 
dressed plainly, even unbecomingly, in a striped shirt- 




o 

X 

u 



w 

H 

o 



A Morning in the Royal Nurseries 105 

waist, with a broad German belt and a dark skirt. She 
wore a small sailor hat with a blue band, and white canvas 
shoes. Her manner gave every evidence of shyness, 
almost of embarrassment, as she talked with Mademoiselle 
about the proposed miniature of her four young daughters. 

" It is Anastasie who will give you trouble," she said, 
laughing and looking over at her sister. " Isn't it so? " 

" Yes," answered Her Highness, " but placid little 
Marie will make up for her restlessness, and Olga will 
delight in the posing." 

" They have all been walking with me, but I think 
you will find them in the nursery by this time. You have 
your sketch-box? Perhaps you would like then to go up 
at once. I will come when I have seen my secretary, who 
is waiting." The Tsaritsa graciously included me in 
the invitation to ascend to the playroom and I was de- 
lighted to have an opportunity to see so informally the 
imperial youngsters whose photographs are familiar to 
everyone. As we went down a corridor, sounds of 
laughter and running feet came from a room at the end. 
" My nieces are in high spirits to-day," said the Grand 
Duchess. " They have some little cousins coming to 
spend the afternoon, and their father has promised to 
go with them for a sail. That is their greatest happi- 
ness — to be with their father," she added simply. When 
she opened the playroom door ten feet made a rush for 
her, and ten hands dragged her down. She was welcomed 
with shouts of joy, for she had arrived only the evening 
before and this was the children's first sight of their 
favourite aunt. When she had given them a kiss and a 
hug apiece, and bestowed an extra caress upon the curly- 
haired little boy, Her Highness presented them to Mile. 



106 Honeymooning in Russia 

Lecrey and to me, and they became at once well-behaved 
little ladies. The Tsarevitch, a stocky little figure in a 
white belted smock and baggy trouserlets, bashfully hung 
to his eldest sister's skirts and could not be induced to give 
us his hand, despite her cajoling. His locks almost 
shrouded his eyes as he shook his head and put out his 
lips — a dear, plump, pouty baby — heir to the Woe of 
Russia ! The room was spacious and cheery and con- 
tained a multitude of toys and mechanical playthings. A 
big toboggan slide was evidently the favourite, for it was 
sadly scuffed and worn. Miss Eagar, the stout, kindly 
governess, helped to arrange her charges according to 
Mademoiselle's suggestions. The Heir Apparent, regain- 
ing his spirits, galloped boisterously about the great room 
on a stick with a horse's head, and created such a distract- 
ing commotion that he had to be suppressed. At the feet 
of the Grand Duchess and myself he set to playing with a 
train of cars which imperilled our toes. When his four 
sisters were posed and Mademoiselle was busy with her 
pencil, he climbed up on his aunt's lap and watched in 
silence the unusual doings. We smiled at his baby won- 
derment. 

" I am going to ask Mile. Lecrey to do one of him 
quite alone. Don't you think just his head and cherub 
shoulders would be pretty? " 

" Adorable," I acquiesced. " How lovely the second 
little girl is." 

" Tatiana? She is considered the beauty of the quar- 
tette. It is Olga the Clever, Tatiana the Fair, Marie the 
Good, and Anastasie the Terror. But they are all inter- 
esting in their own way. You should see some of Olga's 
drawings, and they dance beautifully." 



A Morning in the Royal Nurseries 107 

"And speak as many languages as most educated 
young Russians? " 

" Four, but I think they like English best. In fact, it 
is English which has almost become the court language. 
His Imperial Highness and my sister speak English to- 
gether, and are quite devoted to their London papers which 
they receive every day." 

The Empress entered unobtrusively and stood by the 
door while the artist continued to sketch. Occasionally, 
the mother found it necessary to chide the active Anas- 
tasie or to warn another small model not to lose the pose. 
I recalled pictures of her taken about the time she mar- 
ried the Emperor of All the Russias, slim and lovely, if 
a little melancholy in expression. Now she showed not 
only the rack of the years and the added melancholy they 
have brought, but also a matronly stoutness. " A sweet- 
faced German hausfrau " was my mental comment as she 
stood leaning against the opposite wall. Mademoiselle 
finished her drawing and began to put up her pencils. At 
a nod from their mother the little girls danced off to play 
in the open, their long hair flying and their cheeks pink 
with health. 

" We go so soon on our cruise to England," the Tsar- 
itsa was saying, " I am afraid there will not be time for 
another sitting until our return. Shall you be able to 
come again in about two weeks ? " She and Mademoiselle 
arranged a date, and we rose to leave. 

" Thank you very much for an opportunity to see your 
daughters and little son, Imperial Highness," I said. 
" Perhaps when he is older, your baby will come across the 
Atlantic as his great-uncle did when he was Heir Ap- 
parent." 



108 Honeymooning in Russia 

" King Edward? I have heard him relate stories of 
his American journey. Yes, possibly my little Alexis 
may go too, some day. But he is only a five-year-old 
baby now." She patted his soft hair and drew him to 
her side. " Just a five-year-old baby," she repeated, 
sadly, I thought.. Knowing his heritage, how she must 
yearn to keep him a baby ! 

In the road outside the palace grounds, Philip was 
walking up and down. He looked at Mademoiselle and 
smiled. " Did she prove tractable ? " 

" Yes," I answered for her, " a tractable dupe for your 
intrigues. But I'm not sorry. It was delightful, and a 
lesson in simplicity which I shall never forget. I wish 
you had come, too." 

" I ? Never ! I should have been sure to bump into 
something walking out of the room backwards." 

" Oh, but they make one forget to do that," said 
Mademoiselle, " do they not, Mrs. Houghton? " 

" Absolutely. It would be impossible to find less os- 
tentation in an average American household." 

" And not so little in many," added Mile. Lecrey, who, 
had painted at Newport, and knew. 

In the afternoon we went to drink tea with the Coltons 
at Strelna, where they had hired a modest datcha for the 
summer. Young voices hailed Mrs. Jordan from the tree 
limbs as we entered the yard. 

" That family of mine ! " exclaimed the mother from 
the door. " Couldn't you guess their ancestry? " 

" Simian ? " suggested Mrs. Jordan impudently as the 
two saluted, and I was welcomed as a countrywoman of 
the energetic, quick-speaking little hostess. 



A Morning in the Royal Nurseries 109 

" Possibly, but American also. Whoever saw any but 
American youngsters with such a lust for climbing? 
I keep a roll of bandages and a bottle of arnica on every 
shelf, and I've memorised the telephone number of every 
doctor in the neighbourhood." 

" But they rarely fall." 

" I know it. The Russian children playing primly 
about, stare with mouths agape at the antics of our six. 
Their mothers are convinced that I haven't the first in- 
stincts of a natural parent." 

" And yet they wonder why your offspring are rugged 
as young oxen, and their own are pale as lilies and thin as 
reeds. I am often sorry for the sad little things; they 
don't know what it means to romp like normal children. 
Even when they grow up and go to the University the 
only athletics they know are ' lorteeneece,' croquet, and 
* cup and ball.' Of course they skate beautifully, and 
toboggan in ' Butter Week.' " 

"Butter Week?" 

" The week before Easter when all Russia makes a 
holiday. Of course during Lent they may not eat any 
food produced by an animal, so even butter and milk are 
prohibited. Before they fast, they consume all the butter 
their purses will afford." 

"And what do they use for frying? Sunflower oil, 
possibly." 

" Nothing else. And the seeds, you know, they eat 
those as we Americans eat peanuts or candy. I have 
seen the hulls inch-deep on the station platforms," said 
Mrs. Colton, as her hands moved briskly among the tea- 
things. A robust maid set the samovar before her, and 
went out". 



110 Honeymooning in Russia 

" What a delightfully quaint * self -boiler ' ! " com- 
mented Mrs. Jordan. 

" I picked it up in the Apraxin Bazaar one day. I 
am not at all sure that I am not risking the charge of 
receiving stolen goods." 

" That is one of the fascinations of buying there, don't 
you think? " 

" I am afraid so. i A legalised fence,' Mr. Colton 
calls it." 

" It sounds too interesting to miss," I said. " May I 
know where it is? " 

" Back of the Gostinny Dvor, where we shopped the 
other day," replied Mrs. Jordan. " But wait until you 
reach Moscow and you will find even a wickeder one. 
You mustn't miss it." 

" I shall inquire for it the first thing. I have de- 
manded of my husband a wedding-present in the shape 
of a samovar, and my heart shall henceforth be set upon 
discovering one which gives evidence of having been 
stolen!" 

" Did you know," said Mrs. Jordan, " that you are this 
afternoon giving a cup of tea to a young person who this 
morning was received at Peterhov ? " 

"No? Delightful! Was it an awesome experience? 
I have never been." 

" It was the antithesis of awesome," I replied, laughing. 
" I felt as though I had run in to make a neighbour a 
morning call. Is the Tsar so informal upon such oc- 
casions, do you suppose?" 

66 They say so. I know a little story about him you 
will like to hear. A lady of my acquaintance, an Eng- 
lishwoman, by the way, Mrs. Jordan, went into a shoe 



A Morning in the Royal Nurseries 111 

shop with her little boy one day, and while she sat try- 
ing on boots, a gentleman entered by a door leading from 
an alley-way. He had on a great coat, and a fur cap 
pulled well over his forehead, but as he came forward 
he pushed back the cap and unloosened the coat. 
Immediately her small boy exclaimed, none too quietly, 
* Oh, mother, doesn't he look like our Prince of Wales ! ' 
His mother, seated with her back to the man, only re- 
proved the boy for speaking so loud, and did not glance 
around. But the little fellow was not to be suppressed. 
' It must be the Prince of Wales, mother. He is exactly 
like that picture we have at home.' So she turned about, 
and there was the gentleman standing quite near and 
smiling at her son. Of course the moment she looked she 
knew who it was, but she did not have time to call the 
child to her before the gentleman spoke to him. ' Shall 
you think it strange that I look like the Prince of Wales, 
if I say that he is my cousin ? ' ' Your cousin ? ' the little 
boy echoed. ' Then — why then you must be His Im- 
perial Highness, and that can't be ! ' At that the man 
laughed and called the boy to him, while the mother sat 
like ' my son John, with one shoe off and one shoe on,' 
praying that her small child would not commit some ter- 
rible faux pas, for this was his first audience with royalty. 
The Tsar put his hand on the little fellow's shoulder and 
looked down gravely into his flushed face. ' And are you 
so interested to see the Emperor of Russia? ' he said. 
'Why?* 'Why — why — because you are the Em- 
peror,' he stammered truthfully. 6 And not because I am 
I, at all. Yes, that is the way it must always be, I pre- 
sume. I wish sometimes,' he said, looking about quickly 
and finding no one listening (the salesman had been off 



\ 



112 Honeymooning in Russia 

hunting for a certain size for my friend all this time), 6 1 
sometimes wish I wasn't the Emperor at all. Sometimes 
I am so tired of being an Emperor that I would give all I 
have to be — well, just you, for instance. You won't 
tell, will you? ' he said whimsically, patting the small boy^s 
cheek. And then he went to the front of the shop and 
asked to be waited on. The proprietor hadn't guessed 
until that minute who his customer was, and had allowed 
him to wait while he fitted a house-maid to a pair of 
goloshes. My friend heard afterward that it was not 
unusual for the Tsar to slip out and go shopping unat- 
tended, half -disguised by his collar and big fur cap. But 
I don't think he does it now." 

" I should think not," said Mrs. Jordan briskly. 
" The Reactionaries see to that now-a-days." 

" If one can believe reports, the Tsar is rather the com- 
manded than the commander. Is it so that he is a tool 
merely, and knows little of his kingdom's affairs ? " 

" Not true at all. He is the patron of the Black 
Hundred and the provoker of Jewish outrages. He is 
not brilliant, but, on the other hand, he is not the fool he 
is often painted. I think he is a bad man, an oppressor 
to the same degree that Nicholas First and some of his 
other illustrious ancestors were. Look what he has done 
to the ^inlanders. And he has fooled the people about 
their Duma until even the muzhiks have begun to un- 
derstand that their loyalty to the throne has been mis- 
placed. He ought to be black-balled by other nations and 
their rulers, instead of being received with the honours 
which attend his appearance in foreign waters." 

" Apropos of the English visit? " inquired Mrs. Col- 
ton, smiling at her guest's vehemence. 




The Arab Captain 



A Morning in the Royal Nurseries 113 

" Yes, and of the one to France, and to Germany, and 
to Italy. So long as Europe wears a smiling face to- 
wards him and his atrocious performances Russia will 
not go free. I think it is nothing less than criminal — 
the apathy of foreign countries in the face of the horri- 
ble suffering of this country. Europe could stop it in a 
moment, if it wished to. But instead, it goes on lend- 
ing money to help the bankrupt Government keep the 
whip over the people's heads. Without money to main- 
tain her Cossacks and other soldiers, the Tsar would be 
helpless, for it is only the army which frightens the muz- 
hiks. I hope I shall live to see the arms of the Gov- 
ernment tied and the hands of the peasants at its throat." 

" Good ! " cried Mr. Colton, who had been standing un- 
seen at the outer door. " You're right, Lady Jordan. 
It's the thought I've been harping on in my recent de- 
spatches. When Europe puts its hand behind its back, 
instead of holding it out in fellowship, a new day will 
break for starving Russia." 

" I declare," exclaimed Mrs. Colton, " you have heated 
me up so that I have let my tea go cold 1 And yours, Mrs. 
Houghton? Let me brew you another cup." 

" If you will let the babes come in and drink a cup with 
us. We were promised an introduction to them, you 
remember, Mr. Colton ? " 

" Well, call them, Richard, but I know their faces are 
as dirty as their pinafores and trousers. And their 
drawing-room manners are nil. There, didn't I say so? " 
as the youngsters flew up the steps and embraced their 
father hilariously. " David, come here. Say, ' How do 
you do ' to Mrs. Houghton and Mrs. Jordan. They 
have asked to see you." A straight little figure in brown 



114 Honeymooning in Russia 

velveteen responded. A shock of yellowest hair topped a 
wise small face lit by a pair of very brown eyes. He 
put out a tree-stained fist, and said something unintelli- 
gible, at which the others laughed. " Why, David Col- 
ton, you know these ladies are not Russian. Speak to 
them properly." So the four-year-old tried it again, this 
time in German, which I could understand. But his 
mother was not pleased with him. " David, you remem- 
ber I told you Mrs. Jordan was bringing an American 
lady with her. Why do you not address her in Eng- 
lish?" Which he promptly did. I drew him onto my 
lap and gave him the kiss which his cunning ways had 
earned and which I think he would have willingly for- 
gone, for he was very much of a boy. " I nearly tried 
French," he said, looking up into my face and laughing 
at the joke. ' The other children, profiting by their small 
brother's chiding, made their bows in best English, and 
after that there were no more linguistic tangles. On his 
mother's knee the baby drank her tiny cupful of tea with 
the rest. 

" Are you shocked? " said Mrs. Colton. 

" A little," I confessed. " Cambric tea was my bever- 
age at that age." 

" But this is weaker than the tea drunk in America or 
England, and it doesn't seem to do them any harm. Any- 
way, they love it, so I haven't the character to refuse 
them." 

"I shouldn't have either," I conceded, looking about 
at the small satisfied faces up to the eyes in tea-cups. 
When Phil came for us in the motor-car it was almost 
six o'clock. 

" We have stayed so long we are in positively bad 



A Morning in the Royal Nurseries 115 

form," apologised Mrs. Jordan. " But it is your own 
fault — brew poor tea and be less entertaining if you 
would preserve yourself from future invasions." 

" I am only sorry we shan't remain long enough near 
Petersburgh to come again," I lamented, as Philip cranked 
the car and we climbed in. The six little Coltons stood on 
the doorstep below their father and mother and waved 
their hands as we moved off. Except for the mounted 
Cossacks coming down the road, I could have imagined 
them just a wholesome American family bidding us adieu 
in miles-away America. 







Chapter IX 

A DAY WITH MARIE 

K^/OME in, Madame," said Prince K., rising with his 
newspaper in his hand as I appeared at the door of the 
morning-room. I took the lounging chair which he pulled 
into a stream of sunlight, and accepted a cushion. " I 
am sorry I cannot offer you an English journal." 

" But you can translate me the news. I am steeped in 
ignorance of the world's doings. What about the cholera? 
Is it better?" 

" Appallingly worse. Even the precautions which our 
farcical Health Board does take are useless. Some of 
the ' black people ' believe that the cholera is poured into 
the Neva by mischievous boys, or is the result of a powder 
sifted into the waters by the Evil One. But they are all 
of one mind as to what to do, or rather what not to do 
about it. ' We are in God's hands,' they say. ' If it is 
His will that we should die, we shall die.' And mean- 
while the city's death record is increasing every day." 
" Do you suppose we are in danger from it ourselves ? " 
" Not if you avoid the Neva water and take care as to 
the cleanliness of your food wherever you go. It is a dis- 
ease of filth." 

" So I have heard. What paper do you read? " 
" Officially, the Novo'e Vremya, the New Times. 9 ' 
" We see that quoted in America more than any other 
Russian newspaper." 

" It is the mouthpiece of the Reactionaries. One can- 

116 



A Day with Marie 117 

not depend upon it for it distorts the news to suit the mind 
of the court." 

" And what do you read from preference ? " 

" The Rech, or in your language, the Speech. It 
is the organ of the Constitutional Democrats. I am a 
member of the Most High's entourage. But my heart 
is not with those who flog the people. They have souls, 
they are human, though the Grand Ducal party would 
make us believe that they are but beasts born to pro- 
duce taxes." 

" The Grand Ducal party? " 

" It is led by the uncles and cousins of the Emperor, 
and by his mother, the Dowager Empress Marie." 

" Sister to Queen Alexandra." 

" Yes. I could wish that her influence in Russia had 
been as salutary as has Alexandra's in England." It 
amazed me to hear a Russian of his position speak so 
freely, and I was bold enough to say so. " It is true, 
Madame, that for plain-speaking hundreds of thousands 
of my compatriots have suffered penalties the most se- 
vere. In public I could not say what I say to you here. 
No one will deny, however, that among the officials of 
the Government, as well as in the Army and Navy, there 
are many who mutely sympathise with the Constitutional- 
ists, and even with the Progressists. Unfortunately, mere 
sympathy works no reforms." 

" I presume it would be indiscreet to ask you a frank 
opinion of the Tsar? I heard Mrs. Jordan express her- 
self forcibly a day or so ago." The Prince looked 
grave. 

" I wish I might reply with enthusiasm for His Im- 
perial Majesty's qualities. One must not forget that 



118 Honeymooning in Russia 

he is the progeny of a race of alcoholics and epileptics. 
I cannot say otherwise, though I hope I am as loyal a 
Russian as most. If Nicholas II is vacillating, moody, 
possessed at one moment by an abnormal estimate of his 
own importance, and at the next by a fatal lack of self- 
confidence, if he is more often cruel than kind, we can- 
not censure too bitterly. Not one male ancestor for 
generations back has been normal in mind or body. 
Certainly few have given him an estimable example as a 
ruler. Now his poor little son also bears the blight of 
his grandfathers. It is known that he is a victim of epi- 
lepsy, as is his imperial father." 

"That darling little boy we saw at Peterhov? How 
shocking ! " 

Mademoiselle Ahary had come in quietly and seated 
herself on the wide window-ledge. Her big eyes widened 
with interest as we discussed further. 

" It is all a question of imperial greed," she said at 
last. " The Grand Dukes are Russia's worst enemies. 
They know their incomes will cease if monarchy ceases. 
So the extraordinary influence they hold over the Em- 
peror and in the Departments is used to silence the voices 
that cry for liberty." 

" I wonder if it is true that the Tsar has a hundred 
palaces." 

" Yes, Mrs. Houghton, over a hundred and thirty pal- 
aces, and half his subjects are existing upon not more 
than twenty kopeks a day." 

" Ten of our cents ! How can they find anything to 
eat with but ten cents a day ? " 

" Not to eat only," said our host, " but with twenty 
kopeks or less, they must find fire, shelter and clothes 



A Day with Marie 119 

also. Half the peasants never know satisfied hun- 
ger." 

" Are you ready, dear? n said Philip from the door. 
Then catching sight of our faces: "What is it? Bad 
news? You all look so solemn." 

"Yes, Monsieur, bad news of Russia," replied the 
Prince, motioning him to a chair and opening a fresh 
box of cigarettes. " Are you taking your wife away ? " 

" We were going into Petersburgh for a last look. We 
must go on to Moscow in a day or so." 

" Oh, not yet ! " protested our host hospitably. 
" Your stay has just begun." 

" We wish it had, don't we, Philip? It has been a per- 
fect two weeks." 

" Delightful, more delightful than we can express. 
But the days are slipping by and we should be back in 
London in September." 

" Well, it would be selfish to restrain you, for Mother 
Russia has many things to show you." 

" How do you plan to go ? " asked Mademoiselle Marie 
from the window-seat. 

" To Moscow by night express and then to Nizhni 
Novgorod. I must see Nizhni. I can recall geography 
descriptions of it which always fascinated my young 
mind. Do you suppose all the romance is gone from 
the Fair now that railroads have superseded caravans? " 

" Not all the interest, at any rate," answered His 
Highness. " The Fair will be at its height in about a 
week — the middle of August. Why do you not accom- 
pany me as far as Vologda, go from there to Yaroslav 
by rail and thence by water to Nizhni? You can see 
Moscow as well upon your return." 



120 Honeymooning in Russia 

" I haven't the faintest notion of Vologda's place on 
the map, but that sounds enticing enough to consider." 
Philip was unfolding his pocket-guide to Russia. 

" Just east of us, Mr. Houghton. V-o-l-o-g-d-a — do 
you find it? " 

" Yes, and Yaroslav is south, and — oh, this will be 
j oily ! — it's the Volga, Joyce, which winds from Yaro- 
slav to Nizhni." 

" That decides it ! To voyage down the Volga will 
consummate another dream of my school days." 

" Then I may have the pleasure of having you as 
guests in my car. I am going to inspect the compara- 
tively new line from Petersburgh to Vologda. If Marie 
will come, and Lieutenant Kizovsky, and Mrs. Jordan 
and as many more as you will care to ask — Mr. Drake 
too, — we shall have a house-party en route. Is it ' yes,' 
Mademoiselle? " 

" I regret, Monsieur. It would be charming, but I 
have promised elsewhere. And Lieutenant Kizovsky — 
he is ordered to his ship." 

" Ah, pauvre enfant I " 

" Yes, I am melancholy. I will not deny it." 

" Then perhaps you will come with us for the day in 
Petersburgh ? Do come ! " 

" Yes, do ! " urged Philip. We had grown very fond 
of her during our two weeks daily, almost hourly, com- 
panionship. 

" I should not be in the way? " 

" We should miss you if you did not come." 

" Then I go instantly to find my hat." 

His Highness put the limousine at our service, and in 
half an hour we were off on the highroad to Petersburgh. 



A Day with Marie 121 

When the chauffeur asked for instructions, we scarcely 
knew what to tell him. 

" Let us just drive about the city and have Mademoi- 
selle play guide." 

" We'll have to buy her a megaphone, then," teased 
Phil. 

" And why? " she questioned. 

" Because that is what all the guides on the Seeing- 
the-Sights automobiles are equipped with." As she con- 
tinued to look puzzled, I explained. 

" Oh, it is a custom of America, then? " 

" Yes, a new, noisy, and profitable one." 

" Very well then, I am the guide. Here," she began, 
speaking like a guide, and making us laugh, "here you 
see the statue of Nicholas I. Upon his horse he gallops 
furiously. We say, ' The fool is chasing the wise one, 
but St. Izaak stands between.' " 

" And who is the ' wise one ' ? " 

" Why, Peter the Great, who sits upon another horse 
that rears on a rock beyond the cathedral of St. Izaak." 

" Then the Russians are not always afraid to speak 
their minds about their Emperors ? " 

" No, they have many rhymes and proverbs. Some of 
them are — one could not repeat them." Philip thought 
this was hardly complimentary to the rulers' morals. 
We came to the statue of Catherine the Great, facing the 
Riding-school, with the palace in which she lived upon 
one side, the imperial library on the other, and the Alex- 
ander theatre behind. 

" There is a saying about this statue also. I will 
translate it if I can. ' Before her is Sport ; to her right 
hand, Lust; to her left, in the shadow, Learning; at the 



122 Honeymooning in Russia 

rear, Temperament.' It was these qualities which made 
up her nature." 

" These, and worse," I added, remembering her cruel 
exercise of power for evil. The people in the streets in- 
terested us and our cicerone commented upon them: 
" That is a Jewish rabbi, and that equipage belongs to an 
ambassador. Do you see the embroidered triangle on the 
back of the hat, and the colours of the envoy's country in 
front? That fine gentleman driving there — I know 
him. He is the French chef of Madame la Contesse M. 
The family are staying at Gatchina and he comes to mar- 
ket. There are not many meat stores in Petersburgh. 
Everyone goes to the markets. Should you like to see 
them? " She spoke to the chauffeur and he turned off 
the Nevsky into Garden Street. We got out and strolled 
among the stalls. Grayling, sterlet, sturgeon, sig and 
soodak were displayed in the fish market, and further on, 
there were piles of cucumbers, melons, mushrooms, 
gourds and chicory, from the famous truck gardens of 
Rostov-not-on-the-Don, but southeast of Petersburgh. 
Black-cock, grouse, duck and capercailzie were hanging 
stiffly from hooks above the game booths. 

" They are frozen," I said, feeling a neck. 

" Yes, and so are most of the meats you see in those 
other stalls. Some may have been frozen for months. 
These are rabchik, tree partridges. They are caught in 
the trees and sold by the cartload to Russian house- 
wives." 

" By the cart ? " I repeated, incredulous. 

" Yes, in the winter they are stored like coal in the 
cellars." 

"But they can't be good?" 



A Bay with Marie 123 

66 They are — ravishing. You ate them one night at 
Prince K.'s. Many families have them every day, al- 
most every meal." 

" I thought those we had the other evening might be 
snipe," said Phil, " except that the flesh was white. As I 
heard a black steward on a Mississippi steamboat say 
of a Mallard whose wing he had just finished, ' It cer- 
tainly was a tendah bird ! ' " After luncheon we visited 
shops, haughty ones on the north side of the Nevsky, 
humble ones at the rear of the Gostinny Dvor, or Great 
Bazaar. I quelled my husband's ambition to fill his 
pockets with trinkets of brass and gold, hand-hammered 
and inlaid, which fascinated him in the second-hand 
stores. " Don't forget Nizhni and Moscow are to come," 
I warned. But he could not be restrained entirely. He 
made us each, Mademoiselle Marie and me, a present of a 
gold-washed buckle formed of twin imperial eagles, and, 
to complete the gift, bought us each a belt length of mili- 
tary gilt braid. Mademoiselle loyally selected the insignia 
of a lieutenant and I chose the design sacred to a general. 

At the Fontanka Canal we left the car to see the mar- 
vellous new church recently erected upon the spot where 
Alexander II met his death. There were brilliantly col- 
oured paintings upon the outer walls. The interior 
was sumptuous with gems, gold and silver, mosaics, paint- 
ings and priceless marbles. "What must it have cost? " 
I murmured, as we came out. 

" Ten millions of your dollars," replied our guide, 
" and every ruble was given by the Empire's subjects. 
Do you know what became of the amount they put into 
the treasury? Grand Duke Vladimir was chief of the 
committee, as the son of his murdered father. He stole 



124 Honeymooning in Russia 

the twenty million rubles for his own purposes. The 
workmen began to complain that they had not been paid. 
They were patient a long time. Finally they complained 
louder. An investigation was made. The money was 
nearly all gone ! " 

"What happened then?" 

" The secretary pretended he had stolen it." 

"Why?" 

" Because someone had to be blamed, and the Grand 
Duke Vladimir was uncle of the people's Emperor. By 
law the imperial family cannot be prosecuted no matter 
what their crime. So the secretary, for pay, went to 
prison for a while. When he was released he was sent to 
the United States with a life income of five thousand 
rubles a year. The Government refunded the twenty 
million rubles for the building of the church." 

" And the Tsar's own uncle was the thief ! " 

" Most of the Tsar's uncles are thieves ; but the dead 
Vladimir was a knave without a conscience. During the 
war our soldiers went barefoot, cold, and hungry many 
times because Vladimir, Serge, and Alexis put in their 
pockets the funds appropriated to buy stores." 

" And why does Russia stand it ? " 

" She will not always. But now the Cossack's lash 
snaps over the heads of the people. When they revolt, 
they suffer its stripes. It takes courage." 

"Have the Revolutionists helped the country?" in- 
quired Philip. 

" We try, Monsieur." Then she paled. "I — what 
have I said? " 

" We will forget, if you wish it, my dear." 



A Day with Marie 125 

" My father and my fiance — I cannot grieve them, 
and yet it is impossible to stop my ears to the cries 
which come from the dark." 

" And which the young men and women answer." 

" Yes, the students, and I — " she looked searchingly 
into our faces, " I can say to you, I am one of them. It 
would kill my father and Stefan to know. They have 
pledged their lives to their Emperor's service. It is my 
great sorrow that I cannot confide to them what lies so 
close to my heart." 

"Why should it be treason to teach the ignorant?" 

" Because the Government forbids it. Even the own- 
ers of estates may not open schools for their peasantry. 
Count Tolstoi's daughter was ordered to close the class 
she held for the muzhik children from her father's vil- 
lage. Every summer the students from the Universities 
go among the villages and harvest fields, and tell the peas- 
ants what they have a right to know. Sometimes they 
dress as harvest-hands and labourers. Always they 
must go in secret and often, even then, they are sus- 
pected and arrested." 

"And then?" 

" Exiled or imprisoned — or perhaps hung, according 
to the mood of the District police." We were whirling 
along the boulevards among the islands. As we passed 
a pretentious villa, a carriage swept out of the gateway 
and passed close to us. A pompous individual raised 
his hat, in response to Mademoiselle's bow. 

" It is General B.," she explained. " He is father to 
my great friend Natalia. It is with her I go into the 
country this week to visit at her cousin's estate near 



126 Honeymooning in Russia 

Vitebsk. From there we shall go disguised as field hands 
and talk with the women as we cut grain by their side." 
I glanced at the small hand within mine. 

" It looks scarcely large enough to wield a scythe," 
I said smiling. 

" Often last summer my back ached sorely, but it is the 
only way we can reach the muzhiks unsuspected." 

" So it was for this that you declined the Prince's in- 
vitation? " said Philip admiringly. 

" You remember what I said to you, Phil, our first even- 
ing at Peterhov? " 

" You said, ' That little Ahary would ride into bat- 
tle on a charger for a righteous cause.' " 

" As Arabian women do," she added simply. 

" And as Russian women are doing — risking freedom 
and life, and something more sacred, to help right the 
muzhiks' wrongs." 

" I wonder," as we turned at " the Point " and started 
back to the city, " whether you would do for me a very 
great service. You are going to Moscow. I want to 
send a letter there and some money to one of our party. 
She is in communication with exiles who have gone to 
Siberia. I cannot write her direct for she is watched." 

" You would give us her address ? " 

" Oh, yes, but you would be sure not to allow anyone 
to know that you had a letter from me to her? It might 
mean exile to us both." 

" We should regard it as a sacred mission," I said, 
thrilling with the idea. 

" Before you go I will tell you where to find her and 
what to say when you meet her so she will understand." 

" Shall we by any chance be a link in the Underground 



A Day with Marie 127 

Railway I have read about? " Philip's eyes sparkled with 
interest. 

" Yes. It is called so because the Revolutionists 
communicate by word of mouth and from hand to hand 
messages and supplies which it would be unsafe to send 
otherwise to unfortunates." 

" Who are the ' unfortunates ' ? " 

" Convicts, usually those sent into exile." 

We drew near the entrance of the Summer Garden, 
and Mademoiselle directed the driver to turn in there. 
" Have you seen the statue here to old 6 Grandpa Kry- 
lov ' ? " 

" The fable-maker? We saw his grave in the Alex- 
ander Monastery cemetery." 

" This is one of the very few monuments erected in 
Russia to other than Emperors or officers. Literary 
geniuses are not often honoured in this country." 

" More often exiled, I should think," said Philip. 

" Krylov wrote a fable about that. I will say it to 
you. We all know Krylov by heart." We had alighted 
before the statue of the Russian iEsop. So we sat down 
on an iron bench, and listened as our little friend stood 
before us and began in her low voice to say the fable of 
" The Cat and the Nightingale " : 

" * A cat which had caught a nightingale, stuck its 
claws into the poor bird, and pressing it lovingly said, 
" Dear nightingale, my soul ! I hear you are everywhere 
renowned for song, and that you are considered equal to 
the finest singers. My gossip, the fox, tells me that 
your voice is so sonorous and wonderful that at the 
sound of your entrancing songs, all the shepherds and 



128 Honeymooning in Russia 

shepherdesses go out of their wits. I have greatly de- 
sired to hear you — don't tremble so, and don't be obsti- 
nate, my dear: never fear; I haven't the least wish to eat 
you. Only sing me something ; then I will give you your 
liberty and release you to wander through the woods and 
forests. I don't yield to you in love for music. I often 
purr myself to sleep." Meanwhile our poor nightingale 
scarcely breathed under the cat's claws. " Well, why 
don't you begin? " continued the cat. " Sing away dear, 
however little it may be." But our songster didn't sing; 
only uttered a shrill cry. "What! Is it with that you 
have entranced the forest ? " mockingly asked the cat. 
" Where is the clearness, the strength, of which everyone 
talks incessantly? Such a squeaking I am tired of hear- 
ing from my kittens. No. I see that you haven't the 
least skill in song. Let's see how you will taste between 
my teeth." And it ate up the singer, bones and all.' 5: 

" The Government is of course the cat, and the night- 
ingale is Puschkin or Lermontov, Gogol or Dostoievsky," 
Philip remarked as she finished. 

" Tell us another," I begged. " What do those bas 
reliefs mean about the base? " 

" They illustrate some of the favourite fables. ' For- 
tune and the Beggar ' is one, ■ The Muzhik and the Fish- 
soup ' another. There is one which applies to the pres- 
ent condition of party politics in our country to-day, 
only the Nationalists, the Cadets, the Progressists, the 
Octobrists, the Reactionaries do not work in even so much 
harmony as the creatures of the fable." She stood with 
Krylov looking down upon her, as she traced the fantas- 
tic figures circling the pedestal. 





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♦ ^ lini <**4-'J 


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A Day with Marie 129 

" The Swan, the Pike and the Crab," she announced, 
making us a tiny mock bow. 

" ' When partners will not agree, their affair will not work 
smoothly, 

And torment, not business, will be the outcome. 
Once on a time, the Swan, the Crab and the Pike 

Did undertake to haul a loaded cart, 
And all three hitched themselves thereto; 

They strained every nerve, but still the cart budged 
not. 
And yet the load seemed very light for them; 

But towards the clouds the Swan did soar, 
Backwards the Crab did march, 

While the Pike made for the stream. 
Which of them was wrong, which right, it is not our place 
to judge. 

Only, the cart doth stand there still.' " 

" A charming expositor," we both agreed. " And 
what a shrewd old man he must have been ! " 

" He taught political lessons in his fables, for which 
any other man would have been hanged. The court de- 
lighted in him as well as the common folk. He was even 
made librarian of the Imperial Library under Nicholas 
I. His poems have been translated into twenty lan- 
guages. He wrote in rhyme, you know." We wandered 
about the gardens until it was time to go back to Peter- 
hov. The few children playing there were attended by 
stout nurses wearing caps shaped like coronets. 

" Some wear blue ribbons and some pink, do you see ? " 

"Yes. Why?" 



130 Honeymooning in Russia 

" Blue, if their charge is a boy ; pink, if it is a girl." 

" And if there are twins ? " Of course it was Philip 
who propounded this. " Plaid, I suppose," answering 
his own question. 

Speeding out the coast road we joined a procession 
of conveyances bearing the business men of the capital 
to their summer homes. Phil suggested that we stop at 
Jerry's lodgings to see if he had come back. As we 
turned in the gate, there was Jerry himself walking 
quickly down the drive. 

" Whither, my lad ! " hailed my husband. 

"Ahoy there! I was just starting over to find you 
and invite myself to dine." He wrung our hands in his 
brawny ones. " By George, I'm starved to see you all ! 
Tor j ok may make good bricks and grilled chicken, but 
for fellowship, commend me rather to a country grave- 
yard!" 

" Jump in ! " commanded Phil. " The motor is rest- 
less. Why do your pockets bulge? " 

"And jingle?" queried Marie. Jerry looked con- 
fused. 

" Never mind, Jerry ; tell me," I consoled. 

" Well, it's for you that they do bulge and jingle," he 
confessed as he drew from one hip-pocket a fetching pair 
of slippers worked in silver tinsel, and from the other, 
a string of small bells. 

"Oh, you dear Jerry! For me?" I held up the 
slippers of dark red Russia leather, and tinkled the 
chimes. 

" The shoes are from Tor j ok, and the bells from Val- 
dai. Please keep them as reminders of happy days in 
Russia." 



A Bay with Marie 131 

" True reminders of Russia," said Mademoiselle, " for 
the slippers are of leather tanned and embroidered by 
Russian fingers, and these bells I know are those famous 
ones made in the Hills. They put them on the sledge 
harness and the sound is entrancing." Jerry was fum- 
bling in an inner pocket. 

" This is yours, Mademoiselle Marie, if you will be so 
good as to accept it with my best wishes. I may not be 
here when you are married." 

" Oh," said Mademoiselle with a little cry as she lifted 
the velvet box cover. " You have chosen it for me — my 
name ikon — the Mother of God. Oh, you are good ! " 
she exclaimed, extending her hand to him as she kissed 
the holy picture. All but the face and hands was cov- 
ered with silver-gilt, and the whole was framed in a 
border of seed pearls. 

" It is an old one," said Jerry. " I found it in a 
curio shop." 

" Yes, I know," assented she, " for I can see painting 
under the silver also. The modern ikons have only the 
face and hands painted. It is rare, it is beautiful. I 
cannot thank you enough. I am glad Stefan has not 
yet left, for now I can show it to him." 

" And what did you get for Cicely ? Something 
pretty, I know." 

" Do you want to see it? I thought you might, so I 
brought it along." 

"Well, by Jove! What have we here? A human 
treasure-trove? " 

" Be quiet, Philip." 

" He is jealous," said Mademoiselle. 

" Not at all. I wouldn't wear the slippers and I 



132 Honeymooning in Russia 

shouldn't know how to pray to Mademoiselle's pretty 
ikon." 

" You can have the bells. I'll buy you a cap." 
" Jerry, can't Joyce and Mademoiselle Ahary stop 
teasing me ? " 

Jerry leaned over and whispered something in my ear. 
"No? Honest? What a joke!" 

" That's not fair, either. Come here, Miss Marie, I 
have something of distracting importance to state pri- 
vately to you." Marie did as she was bid, laughing at 
Phil's prankishness. Then she sat up blushing as he 
declared in a loud whisper, " We think Lieutenant Stefan 
Kizovsky is the luckiest man in Russia." 

" Oh, Philip, you are incorrigible." 

" WeU, don't we? " 

" Of course. We agreed on that days ago. But you 
mustn't embarrass people." 

" I like to see her blush. It makes her even prettier." 
I gave him up. 

" Look at this exquisite necklet. Won't it be lovely 
on Cicely ? " 

It was of filigree gold, hung with slender pendants, 
enamelled in glowing garnet. Alternating with the 
pendants were pear-shaped pearls. Philip took it gin- 
gerly and held it against my blouse. " Wouldn't it be 
lovely on you? Why didn't you get two of them, old 
man, so I could give one to my sweetheart? " 

" There isn't another in Russia like it. It was made 
for a princess or a queen — or something," Jerry ended 
lamely. " I bought it from a funny old codger, who had 
a sort of museum in Pskov — everything imaginable 
jumbled together. I didn't give half what it is worth." 



A Day with Marie 133 

" And whatever it is worth, it isn't half good enough 
for your princess, or queen — or something, eh, Jerry?" 

" Not a third good enough," maintained Jerry 
bravely. 

I left the two boys in our room before dinner and went 
down to sit with Mrs. Jordan and our host on the lawn. 
Happy, the pup, jumped in my lap and settled herself 
for a nap directly I sat down. " Her affections are 
quite weaned from the rest of us who were her friends," 
Mrs. Jordan complained. 

" We have grown to be great chums, haven't we, 
Happy ? " I said, stroking the soft white head and the 
black-spotted ears. " It will break my heart to say 
good-bye to her, as I must day after to-morrow." 

" Not necessarily," said Prince K., smiling. " We 
can take her with us on the car to Vologda." 

" Really? That will be fun. Do you hear, puppy 
dog, you are going for a journey?" I pulled her up 
and looked into her dark eyes, but she just grunted and 
struggled back into the round ball I had uncurled. 

" I am afraid she makes a convenience of you." 

" She has learned by this time that I am a willing 
slave. How do you say Happy in Russian? " 

" Chastlevey. Can you pronounce it? A soft ch as in 
church." 

" Chast-lev-ey. Is that right? But ' Happy ' goes 
better. I named her that, didn't I? She has such a 
sunny dog-disposition. It suits her." 

The man-servant appeared to say that dinner was 
served, and we went in. 

" Where are our two young men ? " inquired His High- 



134 Honeymooning in Russia 

ness, as we found our places. Outside on the stairs, we 
heard them laughing over some joke. When they entered 
the dining-room, we laughed, too. They were arrayed 
in full native attire, top boots, blouse, baggy trousers 
and all. Being muzhiks, they fell very properly upon 
their knees before the Prince, and made a show of kissing 
his hand. But His Highness graciously bade them 
arise and eat, which we thought most democratic. 
Philip's shirt was gay with embroidery, done in bright 
blues and reds. It was this that Jerry had told me 
about, when he whispered in the car. He had the 
bundle stowed in his suit case, but he hadn't confided in 
me the plan of dressing for dinner. 

We had music in the drawing-room that evening and 
a happy time all around. When we said good-night, we 
were depressed by the thought that our house-party was 
breaking up on the morrow. The lieutenant was off for 
a cruise. Marie was leaving for her friend's house in 
the Islands — each departing on their country's service 
according to their conception of patriotism. Mrs. Jor- 
dan was going to join her husband on his return from 
Little Russia. Mademoiselle Lecrey had already gone 
into the country to sketch. We felt that we were part- 
ing from old friends, as we shook hands at the top of 
the stairs and went to our bed-chamber. " This blessed 
camera," I said as I picked it up from the table. " We 
have much to thank it for." 



Cg3 Cg3 Cg3 

Chapter X 

DOWN THE VOLGA TO NIZHNI NOVGOROD 

-/x BALDWIN engine pulled the Prince's private car 
out of Petersburgh, From the rear platform we said 
farewell to the Russian capital. Jerry waved forlornly 
from the station. " It is too bad he could not have come 
with us," said our host. " A charming young fellow." 

" A dear," I corroborated. 

" A trump," Philip agreed heartily. I held up the 
puppy and vigorously waved a paw. But Jerry did not 
smile. " I believe he is home-sick." 

" I know he is, home-sick for the country we represent 
and a girl in one of its towns." It was raining drearily 
as the " Prince's Special " moved out across lush fields, 
unplanted and unploughed. Herds of thin cattle browsed 
among scrawny beet and turnip plants. Blocks of peat 
strung on poles to dry, trailed the track. At each cross- 
ing a peasant in bast shoes and ragged clothing stood 
signalling with a green flag that the section of track 
for which he or she was responsible was clear of block- 
ades. 

" What compensation do they receive for their serv- 
ices ? " I asked the Prince. 

" Nothing," he replied. " It is not right. The Gov- 
ernment owns and controls the railways. The Govern- 
ment requires this service day and night, in fair or in- 
clement weather. They should be paid something, but 

they are not." 

135 



136 Honeymooning in Russia 

Bleak pine forests and squat villages succeeded each 
other in dismal procession. At a small station where we 
stopped while wood and water were taken on, tow-headed 
children ran to us, offering bunches of flowers and wild 
strawberries for sale. Philip bought two tall measures 
of the berries for ten cents. They must have taken 
hours to pick. " Give them a little more," I whispered. 
So he presented five kopeks apiece to the delighted 
group, which followed us down the apology for a village 
street. A bulbous church tower surrounded, in ortho- 
dox fashion, by four smaller bulbs, terminated the view 
before us. On either side of the waste of mud and filth 
were log houses, put together with straw and clay. 
Nearly every window was brightened by clean white cur- 
tains, and a geranium plant. This is due, the Prince 
told us later, more to an absorbing love for cheer and 
gay colours than to neatness, for inside, the huts are 
rarely models of cleanliness. His Highness strolled 
down to join us, while our engine and car waited on a 
siding for the local which was due. " I know a man in 
this selo," he said. " He once worked for me as a herder 
on my estate south of here. I think this is his izba," he 
added, when he inquired of one of the children. " Should 
you like to go in? " He knocked at the heavy door. 
It was opened by a young woman with a baby in her 
arms and another hanging to her dress. When she saw 
who it was who had knocked, she set the baby down on the 
dirt floor, tumbling over the two-year-old as she ran to 
find a seat for the Barin and his companions. Then she 
called excitedly out the rear door leading into the cattle- 
yard for her husband, who came in immediately when he 



Down the Volga to Nizhni Novgorod 137 

heard who was there. Their demonstration of delight 
at seeing their former employer was affecting. 

For some minutes they stood answering his questions, 
and displaying the doubtful charms of their youngest 
offspring. Then the wife brought the blazing charcoal 
for the samovar, and brewed tea, broken off from a com- 
pressed brick. The baby's crib hung from the ceiling 
by a spiral spring, like a big bird-cage. On the right 
hand corner wall was the ikon, dimly illuminated by a 
sputtering candle. Around the wall was a narrow bench. 
There was no bed visible, and this was their one 
room. " Where do you suppose they sleep ? " I whis- 
pered to Phil. " On the floor," was his guess. I raised 
my eyes to the top of the whitewashed stove, which ab- 
sorbed a third of the room's space, and saw two bleary 
eyes staring down at us. It did give me a start, as I 
confided to Phil afterwards. Then I recalled Made- 
moiselle Marie's description of a typical muzhik hut, and 
knew that the bleary eyes probably belonged to the pa- 
triarch of the family, who because of his age was allotted 
the top of the oven for a bedroom. He was doubtless 
sleeping off a vodka rout, and we had awakened him. 
As the baby began to fret, the mother handed it up to 
the grandparent, who received it as a matter of course, 
and made a worthy attempt to silence it. As he was 
unsuccessful, the mother went for the nursing bottle and 
handed that up also. It was a cow's horn with a cow's 
teat tied over the end! 

A very dirty pig looked in the back door and grunted. 
Happy was for chasing him off, but in consideration of 
the pig's right of priority I restrained her. Some hens 



138 Honeymooning in Russia 

strolled in from the malodorous slough of the cow-yard 
to peck at the crumbs which had fallen from our thick 
slices of sour black bread. As we arose to leave the 
wretched abode, Prince K. tucked a ten-ruble note under 
a leg of the samovar, unseen by the mother and father. 
It was pleasant to imagine their surprised joy when they 
found it there. The arched gate leading to the street 
was carved and painted as elaborately as a totem pole. 
As we took our way back to the station, we passed simi- 
lar gateposts, portraying the artistic tastes of the house- 
holders. The wooden dugas over the horses' necks were 
trimmed with artificial flowers and gilded. " On saints* 
days," said the Prince, " they often tie holy pictures to 
the dugas, and more flowers and ribbons." We picked 
our way around a drunken man who had fallen in the 
road. The drizzling rain spattered his face and drenched 
his rags, but he had drained too deeply the vodka bot- 
tle to be disturbed by mere water. Others passed him, 
but no one gave more than a glance to their fellow towns- 
man in the mire. 

" Won't they help him at all? " I asked, rather worried 
to look back and see him still lying there, splashed by the 
mud of passing wheels. 

" Oh, his wife may happen by after awhile and treat 
him to a beating," said our host, laughing. " His state 
is not so exceptional with the muzhiks that it creates any 
special interest or sympathy. They are the worst 
drunkards in the world." 

" And the Government reaps the benefit." 
" I suppose that does seem shocking to you? " 
" It is scarcely consistent with the ' paternal attitude ' 
assumed." 



Down the Volga to Nizhni Novgorod 139 

" I am afraid Russia is a bad parent in many ways. 
She doesn't do much to set her children's feet in the right 
path." 

" Doesn't she do more to deflect them from the right 
path?" 

The candles on the dinner-table shone cheerily 
through the car windows and the meal which the cook 
sent out from the tiny kitchen did much to dispel the 
gloom of our dismal excursion. The tardy night fell 
about us at last, and emerald fields and squalid villages 
passed in a rainy blur of darkness. 

Morning found us in the station at Vologda. On the 
breakfast-table were bunches of yellow flowers like prim- 
roses, and a note from Prince K., who was already off 
to an interview and who begged that we do him the hon- 
our to remain his guests on the car until night when 
we should leave for Yaroslav. The sun was making a 
valiant struggle to dry up the puddles in the streets — 
such streets ! " They must have been laid when the town 
was founded," remarked Phil in disgust, as we started 
out with Happy under my arm to see what there was to 
be seen. " The town," I said, reading from the guide- 
book, " was founded eight hundred years ago. It is best 
known as a place of banishment for political offenders." 

" What political offence could merit a sentence to live 
in this place?' It's the meanest looking town I ever 
saw." 

" You have never been in Russia before. I understand 
that the city has important manufactories of soap, cord- 
age and potash, and its tallow candles are much in de- 
mand in Great Russia." 



140 Honeymooning in Russia 

"Interesting!" 

" The old highroad to Siberia leads through the town. 
Think of the weary feet that have tramped these cobble- 
stones ! " 

" My feet are weary now. Let's go back to the car." 
But I persuaded him to continue a little further along 
the melancholy streets lined with sad-coloured buildings, 
nearly all of wood. Once a plank gave way in the side- 
walk and I went through the hole up to my knee. A gor- 
odovoy came running to see if I was hurt, but I waved 
him off and insisted upon limping on again. The gutters 
were grey with sewage, flowing sluggishly to the river, 
which supplies drinking-water to the thirty-five thousand 
inhabitants. 

In the open space which marked the centre of the city, 
there was a market. The women were nearly all bare- 
footed. Some of them had their white-topped boots 
under their arms. They were finely built, pleasant faced 
creatures and looked capable of accomplishing any 
amount of manual labour. Their faces were stamped, 
too, with something finer — a fortitude which might 
carry them through the gravest distress. 

" I know a poem about them," said Philip. 

" Why, Philip, how can you know any poems about 
women 'way up here in Northern Russia? " 

" Well, I do," he persisted. " It's from Nekrassov's 
epic of the Russian people, ' Red-nosed Frost.' I mem- 
orised part of it at college once, and I always liked 
it." 

" Very well, you may say it then," I consented, amused 
at Philip in the role of declaimer. We strolled over to 
the stalls and stood watching the women as they poured 



Down the Volga to Nizhni Novgorod 141 

out milk from rude cans and sold cabbages and water- 
melons. 



" * Such women, calm and dignified of face, 
May still in Russian villages be seen, 
Who in their movements show both strength and race 
And boast the glance and carriage of a queen. 
She bears both cold and hunger patiently, 
With even temper and forbearance mild. 
How oft I've watched her mow, surprised to see 
Such sweep of arm — such mighty hay-cocks piled! 
No horseman can contend with her at play; 
Her brave heart brings salvation in hard days. 
'Twas she who chased and caught the runaway, 
And walked into the cottage all ablaze.' " 



" Beautiful." 

" I thought you would like it. When I learned that 
part I didn't suppose I should ever recite it to you here 
in Vologda." 

" Within an arm-length of the very women it de- 
scribes." 

The shop-signs we found very diverting. In Peters- 
burgh we had seen some, but the populace is not so illit- 
erate as in these communities far from the large cities. 
There, one in fifteen, can read! Here in the provinces, 
reading and writing are occult sciences to the majority 
of the population. Therefore the necessity for pictorial 
representation of merchandise is all the more obvious. 
We passed a furniture store. Like other passersby, we 
knew it was a furniture store because signs ten feet high 
presented hand-paintings of mattresses, and chairs, and 
hat-racks. Next door, more or less appetising pictures 
of game cheeses, pickles and caviar, proclaimed a deli- 



142 Honeymooning in Russia 

catessen store. Every sort of bread and roll known to 
the baker was depicted upon an adjacent sign-board. 

" I can't say much for the art of it," said Phil, " but 
they certainly are realistic enough." 

" Yes, I think the Barbizon school has not many fol- 
lowers among Russian sign-painters. Look over there 
at that dairy store sign. See how pleasantly the milk- 
maid smiles as the new milk streams into the bright tin 
paH." 

" And the cheese — am I mistaken, or do I really see 
it move?" 

When we had exhausted the scanty sights of the town, 
we went back to the car, avoiding the muddy lakes by 
leaping agilely from one cobblestone to another. " I 
should think the game of hop scotch should prove pop- 
ular in this country. Watch me negotiate this puddle." 

" Watch yourself that you don't fall in and drown," 
I warned. Phil poised himself with manly grace upon 
the pinnacle of a grandfather cobblestone and prepared 
to jump. "One, two, thr — There you go! Pride be- 
fore a fall." Up to his ankles poor Philip was wading 
out of a chocolate pool. " Don't say it ! " I called, 
stretching out a hand to him from my vantage point. 
" This is one of those moments when the exercise of self- 
control earns an extra bright star in your crown. Take 
my hand, I'll pull you in to shore." I leaned towards 
him — my foot slid down the rounded side of my pedestal 

— I lurched — and caught myself — and lurched again 

— and promptly sat down in another brown puddle. 
" Oh, I say ! " exclaimed my husband, struggling to my 
aid, " it's just too bad. And you were trying to help 
me! Wait a moment, I'll be there." He lifted me out 



Down the Volga to Nizhni Novgorod 143 

and set me upon a dry stone, where we stood trying to 
balance ourselves while we decided as to the next leap to 
safety. At that moment a drosky came rattling down 
the road and Prince K. shouted to us : " Oh, Monsieur 
and Madame, I will come. Wait — wait — " He 
spoke sharply to his isvostchik, and then to our immense 
relief the vehicle was drawn up to our side and we were 
rescued. I was struggling between a laugh and a fool- 
ish cry. My dress was ruined. My shoes were dripping 
with mud and slime. " What shall I do ? " I wailed. 
"Do?" said our kind-hearted host, while Philip tried to 
remove some of the stains from my blouse. " We shall 
unstrap your baggage and in one moment you shall be 
in fresh clothing while my man will run quickly to a 
laundress and have this garment made clean before your 
train leaves." 

" Isn't it fortunate that it is made of linen instead of 
tweed? " I said, trying to be an optimist. " But, Philip 
— your shoes — can you ever get them clean ? " 

" Klim shall attend to all that," assured the Prince. 
" You shall see ! I am more sorry than I can say, but in 
an hour, I promise you, you will have forgotten it." 
And in an hour we did find ourselves freshly apparelled, 
and laughing over our adventure in the streets of the 
province of Vologda. My clothes came back from the 
capable hands of a laundress just in time for us to drive 
to the train. The Prince insisted upon going with us to 
see us settled in the car. " May I take the puppy, too ? " 
I begged. " She wants to see us off." 

The Prince looked at Phil and they both smiled. " The 
puppy is yours, Mrs. Houghton, if you wish her." 

" Mine? " I cried, catching her up. " You don't mean 



144 Honeymooning in Russia 

really that you have given her to me? To take back to 
London ? " 

" If you want her." 

" I want her more than any puppy dog I ever saw or 
ever shall see. Oh, Happy, Happy, you and I are not 
going to be separated after all, and we shall take you 
everywhere we go." I clapped my hands and she caught 
at my ankles and commenced to shake my skirt to demon- 
strate her delight. " But she shall always be a Russian 
dog," I said, holding out my hand to the donor. " I 
shall not allow her to forsake the nationality of her 
former master. And we will send you all the pictures 
we take of her wherever we go, so you can't forget her." 
At the station we had barely time to secure our tickets 
and find our places before the train moved out. As we 
were allowed only thirty-six pounds of baggage on each 
ticket, there was a fee to be paid on our trunks. Our 
hand baggage was stored overhead in the broad racks. 
Our " platz karte " called for seats in a first-class com- 
partment, and as we were alone, we were assured a com- 
fortable night, so we thought. We had said good-bye 
to our charming host with the greatest reluctance. We 
shall not soon again meet another like him. As Philip 
shook hands with him out the car window for the last 
time, the Prince handed him a letter bearing a Moscow 
address. " I had almost forgotten," he said as the 
wheels moved ; " it will introduce you to my very good 
friend in Moscow who is president of a bridge-building 
company. You may like to see how they carry on a big 
business in this country. I have already written him 
that you will be in Moscow in about ten days. Good- 
bye, good-bye, I shall hope to hear that you have had the 



Down the Volga to Nizhni Novgorod 145 

pleasantest of journeys!" We leaned out the window 
and waved as long as we could see his fine figure upon 
the platform. Then we wound about a curve and he 
disappeared from our sight. " But never from our 
hearts," said Phil, moved to sentiment. 

A conductor pushed back the sliding door of the com- 
partment and called for our tickets. He wore a black 
uniform with magenta trimmings and a cap with a ma- 
genta top. The long coat was buttoned diagonally and 
was neatly belted. From a chain hung a whistle and 
two small tubes which looked like old-fashioned telescope 
fans. He was accompanied by an attendant who carried 
a note-book and kept a check, apparently, upon the con- 
ductor's collections. Otherwise, I presume the master 
conductor would steal all the fares. He charged us a 
fee for Happy, but made no objection to our keeping 
her in the car with us. When he had gone out, a waiter 
from the buffet appeared, and presented us with a bill of 
fare printed in Russian. As he spoke German we were 
able to find out what he wished us to do with it, and 
consequently ordered a dinner to be brought to us in 
the compartment. It was a very good dinner. We paid 
three rubles apiece for it and we were not overcharged. 
The distance to Yaroslav is one hundred and thirty miles. 
We were informed that we should travel it in about ten 
hours. But time was of little consequence to us as we 
were sure to have to wait at Yaroslav for the Volga 
steamer, the Prince had said. The long twilight en- 
abled us to see the passing sights until after ten o'clock, 
but the " sights " consisted mainly of marsh and prairie 
and pine woods. Griazorets, the first stop of any im- 
portance, presented a particularly doleful appearance. 



146 Honeymooning in Russia 

It seemed to be completely surrounded by a bog. " It 
should be named mud," said Phil to me, as we leaned out 
the window watching the crowd upon the station plat- 
form. 

An officer immediately below us looked up and laughed. 
" It is, sir." 

" Is what, if you please ? " 

" Is named ' mud.' Griazorets means a marsh." 

" Well, that was a good guess." 

" Many other towns in Russia might be similarly 
named." 

" I don't doubt that. Do you know Vologda? " 

" Very well, but it is well paved in comparison to many 
other cities and villages." 

" Then I should expect to drown in a worse town," 
and Phil related our morning's experience. 

" That was unfortunate, but it often happens. In 
spring there are no roads, none at all in the country. 
The peasants are really prisoners because the so-called 
roads are too muddy to travel upon." 

A beggar with a long beard, and with his legs bound 
in filthy burlap fell at the officer's feet and kissed his 
coat. " For Christ's sake," he asked alms. The officer 
pushed him away and threw him a silver piece. Two or 
three priests and swarms of soldiers and officers paced 
the platform, far outnumbering the civilians. The sol- 
diers wore brass and leather scabbards and sabres with 
the edge up. As they waited the train's departure 
cigarettes were smoked and wee glasses of vodka were 
tossed off at the station restaurant bar, where many 
Russian delicacies were on sale. 

After an apparently purposeless delay, the conductor 



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Down the Volga to Nizhni Novgorod 147 

pulled out one of the little tubes, which became a green 
flag. The station gong had already sounded twice, and 
had been answered shrilly by the impatient engine. 
When the green flag was waved we started, the male pas- 
sengers entraining leisurely and settling into their seats 
with a sigh. We had paid at the rate of about two 
cents and a half a mile for our first-class accommoda- 
tion, as comfortable as any in Europe, but this did not 
include bed-linen, or towels and soap. For sheets and 
pillow-cases we feed the porter. We had taken the pre- 
caution to provide ourselves with towels. Time after 
time during the night we were awakened by the con- 
ductor coming in to examine our tickets. So small a 
convenience as a receipt check seemed unknown. The 
corridor outside was lighted by a single candle enclosed 
in a square-sided lantern. " No wonder it takes so long 
to get there," Phil murmured sleepily, as we stopped for 
the eleventh time and waited at least twenty minutes. 
But if Russian railways are not rushing railways, they 
are at least punctual ones. We steamed into Yaroslav 
almost on the minute scheduled in our Spytunk po Rus- 
sie, or Time-table for Russia. 

Putting up at the excellent Hotel Kokuef, we spent all 
that day and part of the next wandering about the old 
town, one of the oldest in all Russia. Its inhabitants 
defended themselves against Tatar invasion. In its 
monastery once lived the original Romanov, Tsar Mi- 
chael, grandfather to Peter the Great. From the hotel 
proprietor, a rotund and talkative Baltic Russian who 
spoke German as a matter of course, as well as indiffer- 
ent English, we learned the following facts about Yaro- 
slav, both province and city. 



148 Honeymooning in Russia 

The province shares with those of Vladimir and Mos- 
cow the commercial supremacy of Russia. 

Its artisans make the best linen, the best samovars. 

Its carpenters have a national reputation. 

Likewise its cows. 

Its inhabitants are as keen as Scotchmen — or Jews, 
in trade. 

They are especially proud of their pure Great Rus- 
sian blood, a mixture of Finnish and Slav. 

In the capital city the first Russian actor acted upon 
the first Russian stage. His name was Theodore Volkov 
and the year, 1750. The stage was set in a leather ware- 
house, and upon it Volkov's illustrious career had its 
beginning. 

Yaroslav is the Hartford of Russia. It has twenty 
millionaires, and many of them have made their fortunes 
out of iron, which, with cotton, tobacco and linen manu- 
facture, is the most important commerce of the city. 

One cotton mill gives employment to over twenty 
thousand men. 

It has seventy-six churches. 

" If you should go out to the village of Kodlov," he 
said, " you would find native peasants who could talk 
with you in your own tongue. They are the descendants 
of Cronstadt dock-hands and learned to speak English 
from working with British sailors unloading ships at the 
gate of Petersburgh. They speak French and German, 
too. I think you would laugh to hear them, Russian 
muzhiks talking French." We thought we would! We 
walked, at our landlord's suggestion, along the park-like 
boulevard which borders the Volga. Venders of highly 
varnished wooden bowls and spoons, hand-carved toys, 



Down the Volga to Nizhni Novgorod 149 

and jack-knives pestered us at every other step. One 
man proved so excellent a salesman that Phil went away 
with his pockets full. One of his purchases quite fas- 
cinated me. It consisted of a " nest " of wooden dolls, 
made hollow of course, with tops which came off. They 
were painted, by peasants undoubtedly, and were shiny 
with varnish. They had matronly faces with very pink 
cheeks. The tallest stood three inches high; the smallest, 
about half an inch. Eight in a nest cost an American 
quarter, and they were hand-painted! 

Some time before the boat was due from Tver, we 
drove to the long quay which extends up the river for 
two miles. " What sort of a boat do you suppose it 
will be?" said Philip, as we walked up and down before 
the booking office, with Happy romping alongside. 
" Something primitive and impossible, probably." 

" Whatever it is, or whatever the conditions are, I am 
determined to enjoy it. I have an idea that is a family 
of Tatars over there." 

" Going down the river, probably, to one of those Tatar 
settlements. The women aren't bad-looking." They 
had bright, dark eyes, and less irregular features than 
the men, walking about in belted brown blouses and calico 
skull caps. Their eyes were oblique, their cheek bones 
high, their noses concave, their lips thick, and their skin 
yellow. One of them carried a small fat baby. When it 
cried, he set it down by the young mother who was mak- 
ing very pretty lace. I could not resist taking a picture 
of it — a chubby Tatar cherub, with its round face tied 
up in a flowered kerchief. The mother smiled engagingly 
at us. She had on a dark cotton Mother Hubbard, and 
a cap of Tam O'Shanter persuasion, enlivened by a band 



150 Honeymooning in Russia 

of gaudy embroidery. Over her chest she wore a sheep- 
skin plastron which jingled with rows of brass discs. 
Philip thought they might be medals for life-saving or 
sharp-shooting, but I opined that they were worn merely 
as ornaments to satisfy a Tatar love of dress. Happy 
ambled up to the baby and it stretched out its little 
hand and cooed like — any other baby. 

When the steamer hove in sight there was the usual 
scramble to get on board. As we were sure of our reser- 
vations, we stood back and watched the ship's company 
pass up the gang-plank. There were petty merchants 
carrying wares to Nizhni; hawkers with their packs on 
their backs ; more Tatars ; some muzhiks returning to 
their farms from a visit to the city, having exchanged 
produce for merchandise; several officers, and two re- 
markably pretty young Russian girls with their duenna. 
The boat itself was a pleasant disappointment. It was 
quite after the American style, but with a flat bottom. 
On the upper deck we found seats near the young ladies 
and their chaperone. " Listen, Phil," I whispered, 
" they are speaking French. And how dainty their 
clothes are. They don't look at all like other maidens 
we have seen in these parts. The Yaroslav girls, who are 
considered fair, are plain in comparison." 

" Perhaps they are not Russian at all, but French 
relations come to visit in this country." 

" I heard them speak very decided Russian to the 
batrak carrying their luggage. Perhaps they have been 
in France at school, however." They sat so near us 
that I could not avoid overhearing fragments of their 
conversation. I imagined that they were discussing us. 
I suppose we looked different, too ! One of them got up 



Down the Volga to Nizhni Novgorod 151 

to cross the deck and dropped her fan. Philip played 
the gallant, and when she thanked him, he said politely, 
" Not at all." The other sister glanced significantly at 
her companion, and I heard her say, " Aha, anglais ! " 
Then I was sure our nationality had been under discus- 
sion, and that Phil's remark had decided them that we 
were English. After that they regarded us more curi- 
ously than ever. Finally, some prank of Happy's 
brought a smile to the face of the younger sister and 
soon we were in the midst of a conversation, somewhat 
halting on my part, but glib enough on theirs. 

" We do not see many English on the Volga," one of 
them said. 

" No ? But we are not English." Their faces fell. 

"Not — English? But we heard Monsieur say — " 

" Something in English. But English is spoken in 
other places besides England." I smiled at their con- 
fusion. Then a light broke upon them. 

" It could not be — perhaps — Madame, that you 
should come from America ? " I assured them that their 
guess was correct. " Oh, but, Madame, we have never 
seen Americans, we could not have imagined for one 
moment — " They broke off and fell to talking rapidly 
in Russian. It was plain that we were indeed curiosities. 

" Shall we get up and turn around for their inspec- 
tion?" suggested Phil, "I think it proper to encourage 
ethnological research." 

For the next half hour they pelted us with questions 
about America. 

" We have heard of Paris," one of them said ; " is it 
that America is in Paris?" I dispelled that illusion as 
gently as I could. 



152 Honeymooning in Russia 

" Did you, by chance, ever hear of New York ? " I 
asked. 

" New York ? I hardly know," halted the elder. 
" Did you, my sister, ever hear of the country called 
New York?" 

This was too much for Philip. 

" Oh, I say, Joyce, you'll have to explain. I can't sit 
by and hear this. You'll have to make them understand 
somehow." He arose and walked away in the excess of 
his emotion. So I, single-handed, undertook the appar- 
ently hopeless mission of demonstrating the compara- 
tive importance of America among nations, and the not 
insignificant rank of New York, as a city. Through- 
out my explanation, they all three looked interested but 
completely mystified. I despaired of making a success 
as teacher of geography to my class on the Volga. 

" It's your turn," I said, when I had assured them 
for the second time that London and Berlin, as well as 
Italy, were not to be found on the map of the United 
States. " Now you must tell me something about your 
country, and where you learned to speak such very good 
French if you have never been further from Kostroma 
than Moscow." 

" Our father was once in Petersburgh," one of them 
replied, " and he there engaged for us a French nurse. 
She has lived with us always since we were very little 
children. We have no mother. Our good maman 
Clarette she mothers us, she keeps the house, she sends 
to Paris for our clothes, even." Which explained the 
exquisite garments. 

" I should think she must have become a Russian also, 
by this time." 



Down the Volga to Nizhni Novgorod 153 

" Oh, but we are not Russians ! " both exclaimed. 

" Evidently it is our turn to guess," said Phil at my 
elbow. " You begin." 

" You can't be Poles. You are certainly not Mongols. 
Perhaps you are Kirghiz ! " They exploded with amuse- 
ment. " Or Mordvins, or — or Cheremyssi." 

" I guess Tatars ! " declared Philip. Both the pretty 
girls got up and made him a bow, their black eyes spar- 
kling with laughter. 

" Right, Monsieur," they exclaimed, and then burst 
into little shrieks of hilarity at our astonished faces. 

" But Tatar ladies wear veils over their noses," I pro- 
tested. 

" They used to, Madame, and some of the older ones 
do still, but not we younger ones. We do as we please 
now, just as do the Russian demoiselles." 

" Tell us something about your home. You live near 
Kostroma ? " 

" Yes, Tatars have had a settlement there for four 
hundred years. Our father's great-grandfather came 
from Kazan. Our estate has been in our family two 
hundred years." 

" Does your father cultivate the land? " 

" Ah, no, Madame. He has near our home a linen 
factory. He is very rich. He gives us everything. 
He is a good, good father. You shall see him when we 
reach Kostroma." 

In the scorching sun of the August afternoon we made 
the landing at Kostroma, capital of the province of the 
same name. When our young Tatar friends discovered 
their father on the shore, they hailed him affectionately. 

" You must come with us ashore," they insisted, " and 



154 Honeymooning in Russia 

meet our so dear Papa. He also has never seen an Amer- 
ican." 

The piles of cargo on the dock indicated that we should 
have time to spare, and, accordingly, we accepted their 
invitation and went with them down the gang-plank. A 
big man in dusty blouse, and boots to his thighs saluted 
the two young ladies with a kiss on either cheek, and 
shook hands with the duenna. When we were introduced, 
there was nothing we could say to each other, for, his 
daughters explained, he knew no language but his own 
Tatar, and Russian. He surveyed us with much inter- 
est, following their comments upon our nationality, and 
asked his interpreters to inquire whether it was true that 
one sailed for days in a great ship to find America. If 
the steamer's schedule had admitted of it, we should cer- 
tainly have gone with them to their home for tea, as they 
cordially asked us to do. As it was, we contented our- 
selves with obtaining a hasty impression of the city, its 
golden cupolas glittering splendidly in the late afternoon 
sun. From the Ipatiev monastery on the river-bank, the 
young Michael was elected Tsar of Russia, thus found- 
ing the now extinct Romanov dynasty. In a near-by for- 
est a peasant, Ivan Susanin, gave up his life to the Poles, 
rather than divulge the true hiding-place of Michael, 
and thereby furnished to the composer Glinka the in- 
spiration for his great national opera, " A Life for the 
Tsar." 

" Philip," I said, when we were again under way, 
" did you think the Volga would be like this ? " 

"With islands, and steep banks, and lots of green? 
No, I thought it would be a wide, lazy, unadorned stream, 
with sandy shores. But it's pretty, isn't it? " 



Down the Volga to Nizhni Novgorod 155 

" As pretty as can be." Truck gardeners were bend- 
ing over patches of lettuce and cabbage on the shore, 
as the twilight stole upon us. Up stream came a horse 
tow-boat, driven by a young boy. When we tied up for 
the night, because of the sand-bars, we went to bed. 

By three o'clock it was light enough to proceed. 
Outside on the bank we could hear the noise of feet, and 
voices. Women in bare feet, but with their heads well 
tied up, were loading the boat with firewood, which on this 
part of the Volga, is used as fuel, though below Nizhni, 
oil from the wells of Baku is burned. When we had taken 
on all the wood necessary, the captain signalled the ba- 
traks on shore to heave away the ropes, tied to trees. 
The side- wheels churned the water into a brown froth, 
but the boat did not budge. 

" The expected has happened," announced Phil, 
coming into our cabin from a tour of investigation. 
n We are on a sand-bank. This could be the Mississippi 
if that mosque didn't show on top of the hill, and those 
were black rousters instead of Russian batraks." For 
four hours, every device known to Russian mind was em- 
ployed to get us off. The paddles splashed, the captain 
shouted, the boat strained, the gongs rang " ahead " and 
then " astern," but still we stuck. About nine o'clock, 
a sister boat up from Nizhni Novgorod was hailed, and 
pulled us off. 

The river here was only about six hundred feet wide, 
maintaining the same width as at Tver. At Astrakhan, 
at the palate of its seventy mouths, it measures a mile 
and a quarter across. 

" Do you remember that old book in the imperial 
library, jena, in the room where they keep the thirty 



156 Honeymooning in Russia 

thousand foreign books about Russia? The English 
diplomatist Fletcher wrote it in 1500 and something. 
He said, ' the Volga hath its head at the foot of an alder 
tree.' Where do you suppose that is ? " 

" In the Valdai Hills, south of Petersburgh. I read 
that the Duna and the Dnieper had their source on the 
same plateau. See that gay lumber boat 1 " It was 
painted salmon colour and had a Nile green stripe along 
the plimpsail line, and a gilded eagle on the prow. 

We passed a small settlement of wretched hovels, and 
every Russian on the boat crossed himself and bowed. 
"What is it?" I said, my curiosity aroused. "It can't 
be that roadside shrine, surely, to which they are show- 
ing such reverence." We decided that it was naught 
else. " It may be a wonder-working ikon," surmised 
Phil. But we learned by later observation that the ap- 
pearance of any shrine or sacred edifice was sufficient to 
produce the same result. 

As brown as the Rhine is green, the great river flowed 
" with the dignity of an epic." Not a reef or a cataract 
disturbed its calm breast. 

Overhead flew flocks of ravens, teal and grebes. A 
colony of kingfishers noisily discussed some matter of 
importance on a big boulder. We passed close enough 
to them to overhear what it was all about if we had un- 
derstood bird-talk. An enormous traffic, befitting the 
longest river in Europe, was a constant source of inter- 
est to us. At Kineshma we had time to go up into the 
village, which stands on a high bank. In the rear of 
many of the houses were tall looms where men and 
women were weaving the coarse linen for which all this 
region is renowned. It will not be long, however, be- 



Down the Volga to Nizhni Novgorod 157 

fore hand-woven linen will be out of the market, as huge 
factories are springing up on every hand. We met one 
of the young officers who embarked at Yaroslav and as 
he spoke courteously to us as fellow-passengers, we im- 
proved the opportunity to ask him many questions about 
the peasant industries of this province. He went with 
us into a small tannery conducted by one villager in an 
out-house at the back of his cottage. His helpers were 
a clean-limbed lot, nude to the waist. From cow-hide, 
the red Russia leather is made, and from horse-hide, the 
black. The skins are tanned by a process which ren- 
ders them mould-proof, owing to the damp and boggy na- 
ture of Russian soil. The artisans of this province also 
smelt " marsh-iron," and, in primitive quarters, turn 
carpenters' tools and other hand-made implements. 
From lime-tree bast, women and girls weave mats, and 
also the leggings which serve as both shoes and stockings 
to most muzhiks. As nearly all the manufactured prod- 
ucts of Russia emanate from three or four provinces 
radiating from Moscow, the little towns are given more 
to commerce than to agriculture in distinction to the re- 
mainder of the country, where farming is almost exclu- 
sively the occupation of the inhabitants. 

Certain kinds of lace are also made in this region, 
though one must go into the provinces of Minsk and 
Riazan to find really national designs. " Slavonic 
lace " is made with the needle, of very fine thread, 
and somewhat resembles Brussels lace in pattern. But 
the peasants who make lace in the provinces of Yaro- 
slav and Kostroma employ cushions. The littlest girls 
are often apprenticed. We saw one or two who were 
so small that they could scarcely look over the tops of 



158 Honeymooning in Russia 

the huge cushions upon which they threaded the linen 
filaments from pin to pin. 

These provincial lace-making establishments are us- 
ually conducted in an annex of the head-worker's cot- 
tage. The average wage is not more than two cents an 
hour, so that a peasant girl is esteemed both clever and 
industrious if she earns twenty dollars by working 
throughout the long winter months. 

Further down the river we called at small ports where 
the ship-builder's hammer is the chief implement of trade. 
The women-folk are also adepts at spinning flax. Our 
friend, the officer, who was en route for Samara, went 
with us on more than one expedition. When we wished 
to photograph the workers plying their interesting 
trades, not the least objection was made. In fact, we 
came to believe that Russians as a whole are fond of sit- 
ting for their picture, for everywhere we went, the sight 
of our camera brought requests to photograph a group, 
or a baby (usually very dirty), or a favourite farm ani- 
mal. 

At Gorodnets, where St. Alexander Nevsky died, we 
found much entertainment walking through a rude sort 
of outdoor bazaar. The peasants had congregated to 
exchange money or merchandise for hand-carved wooden 
spoons, fish-hooks, saucepans, bast boots, and toys for 
the babies. Pedlars of rye beer, or kvas, called their 
wares as do lemonade-mongers with us on similar oc- 
casions. One and all ate raw cucumbers as we eat 
oranges, and uncooked peas in the pod. 

Lieutenant Sirasin presented me with a delightful 
donkey which, carved and jointed, stood upon a pine 
shingle. From his tail and his head depended a cord 



Down the Volga to Nizhni Novgorod 159 

which passed through a wooden bulb. Upon this bulb 
being swung like a pendulum, to and fro, first the tail 
of the donkey would wag, and then his head. I carried 
it back to the steamer in glee. 

" You can give that to Helen Charlotte," suggested my 
husband. Said I, " If my small cousin is to have one of 
these bewitching affairs, you may go directly back and 
buy another. This is mine." So back he went. He 
had hardly gained the town when I saw that all the cargo 
on the dock had been loaded, and that we were about to 
put off. I ran to the deck-rail, and shouted to the 
dock-hands as they were pulling at the ropes. I waved 
wildly towards the town. They merely regarded me 
calmly and continued to pull. We began to move slowly, 
steadily away from shore towards mid-stream. Lieuten- 
ant Sirasin, even Happy, had gone with Phil. I was 
alone, without acquaintances, money or passport. I flew 
to the steps leading to the top deck and the pilot-house. 
The captain was in the wheel-room. I caught at his 
arm. I expostulated in English and German and 
French. I gesticulated. I implored. The men at the 
wheel stared. The captain stared. And now the boat 
had gained her channel, and was heading down-stream. 
I sat down on the captain's stool and began to cry. It 
was hopeless. The tragic waving of my arms towards 
the town signified nothing to these sluggish Russians. 
We should go on to Nizhni. I should be landed in the 
great wicked Fair Town alone and without a kopek in 
my pocket. 

The captain looked on, embarrassed at my show of 
tears. He spoke to the wheel-men. They shook their 
heads. Suddenly, a great shouting arose from the bank. 



160 Honeymooning in Russia 

Philip, the lieutenant, and Happy were racing along its 
edge, exerting their combined lung power to arrest the 
attention of someone on the steamer. " There ! " I burst 
out in the midst of my tears, " perhaps now you can un- 
derstand what I have been trying to tell you, you dull, 
horrid man ! " The captain gave an order which halted 
the boat, and the three on shore put out in a skiff which, 
for liberal consideration, a batrak placed at their dis- 
posal. 

I ran to the rail to watch them mount the ladder. 
The lieutenant was struggling hand over hand with 
Happy crushed under an arm. " Oh, Philip," I called 
down to my husband, labouring after, " I have been so 
frightened! They didn't know anything but Russian, 
and they wouldn't stop, and — and — I've been crying 
like a baby," I finished, ashamed now of my tear-streaked 
face. Happy scrambled into my arms, palpitating with 
the excitement of the chase. Then the lieutenant put a 
booted leg over the side, and held down a hand to my 
breathless husband. " Never mind, jena," he called be- 
tween gasps, " we've got the donkey ! " And a moment 
later he put into my hands the frivolous animal which 
had been the sole cause of the misadventure. 



«J 



Chapter XI 

YARMARK ADVENTURES 

1 HE lieutenant's wife awaited him at the Nizhni 
dock, which we reached in the morning after being com- 
pelled to tie up a second night. At their suggestion, 
we accompanied them to the pension where Madame Sir- 
asin had been living temporarily. She was a sprightly 
Polish woman, immensely proud of her good-looking hus- 
band, who was also a Pole. 

" The Government sends us Poles to Russian posts, and 
the Russians to Polish," said he as we lurched in our 
drosky through the muddy streets. " They fear to 
trust Polish officers to command their own countrymen 
lest to revolt should be more easy." He spoke English 
with facility, though his wife knew only a few words 
which tripped from her lips archly accented. There are 
few Russian or Polish men of education who do not 
know English; it is the hall-mark of breeding. 

Our pension was in the Kremlin quarter on the hill 
looking out over the Volga and the confluent Oka. The 
view was magnificent. We wanted all the more to see 
Kiev when we were told that, next to Kiev, Nizhni was 
the most beautifully situated city in the Empire. 

On the distant plains we descried the figures of field 

labourers cutting grain. Up and down stream came 

river craft bringing fish from the Caspian, caviar from 

Astrakhan, carpets from Georgia, dried fruits from 

Bokhara, tea from Kiatkha, iron, furs, and precious 

161 



162 Honeymooning in Russia 

stones from Siberia. The more prosaic cargoes of Eng- 
land, Belgium, Germany, and the United States came 
down the Volga from the Baltic by the canals which 
make it possible to sail from the Atlantic to the Caspian. 
Across the widening river lay the sandy triangle, the 
straight aisles of commerce, and the twenty-five hundred 
stone booths which constitute the premises of the " Yar- 
mark," or annual World's Fair of Nizhni Novgorod, the 
" Lower New City." The jagged sky-line of peak and 
turret and pagoda enticed us early on our way. 

The Cossacks shouted, the mud splashed, the horses 
reared. We were crossing the floating boat-bridge 
which unites the city proper with the City of Traders, 
which annually increases the population of Nizhni from 
forty to a hundred and ninety thousand. The odour of 
greasy sheepskins and Russia leather boots was strong 
about us. Sturdy peasants surged close to our wheels, 
venders of tawdry baubles, long-bearded Orientals, Ger- 
man-Jew merchants, Circassians in kaftan and tall cap, 
ragged Kirghiz from the Siberian plains, an occasional 
woman with painted cheeks, lumber- jacks, Persian horse- 
dealers. The Cossacks policed the motley horde. The 
drosky lunged off the bridge into a slough of mud, cling- 
ing, oily mud which speckled and splashed our clothes 
and faces. " Oh, please ! " implored Madame Sirasin in 
distress, and I echoed, " Yes, please ! Let us get out 
and walk. Nothing can be worse than this." So we de- 
scended, and when the men had finished contending as to 
which should pay the cab-fare, we began on foot to ex- 
plore the somewhat disappointing maze of shop and 
booth. 

Each street had a number and was devoted to one or 



Yarmarh Adventures 163 

two specific kinds of merchandise. With the lieutenant 
as interpreter, we found what Phil called " Tea Avenue," 
" Persian Jewelry Street," and " Fur Boulevard." On 
the latter, the wonderful displays of skins from the far 
north of Siberia proved very alluring to us women. 

Most expensive of all was the black fox, but the sable 
skins were to my mind the most beautiful. The smiling 
merchant brought for our delectation strings of Siberian 
rat and psetz. And there was kuni, and Persian lamb- 
skin. Russian ladies frequently send agents here to 
select the shubas or cloaks which keep them warm in 
winter, the lieutenant told us, and fur shoes from Arch- 
angel. " But one must know how to buy," he added. 
" Many foreigners are sadly cheated." When we went 
into the jewelry booths of the Gostinny Dvor, he warned 
us again. A merchant of Bokhara invitingly pushed 
toward us a tray of gems. But Philip, who had once 
gone around the world and had stopped in Colombo on 
the island of Ceylon, remembered too well a certain glass 
sapphire which he had there been inveigled into buying, 
and could not be persuaded now by the suave old Per- 
sian to run for the second time a risk of being swindled. 
In the shop where a Polish Jew glibly exhibited curios 
and trinkets of Siberian stones, I saw the lieutenant 
select from an assortment of lapis lazuli and malachite 
one or two specimens. A piece of the lapis he began to 
rub smartly upon the lining of his green jacket. 
" Aha ! " he exclaimed when he had examined it again. 
He showed it to the shopkeeper who at first protested 
rapidly. But the lieutenant only smiled and turned to us 
with the lapis in his fingers, " You see those white spots? 
That is defective lapis. With a preparation of wax and 



164 Honeymooning in Russia 

blue dye the spots are cleverly concealed. I know this fel- 
low. He cheated me once. It is pleasant to confound 
him to his face." 

So we bade good-bye to the swindling Jew, and went 
on past the booths of Tatars with false turquoises and 
Oriental ornaments made in Pforzheim, to the more repu- 
table shops of Moscow merchants selling enamels set in 
gold and silver matte, and of Caucasians who stood be- 
hind cases filled with buckles and belts and brooches made 
of silver and black enamel. The silver is engraved by 
hand and the enamel is then poured into the tracery. 
The effect is somewhat the same as the Spanish Toledo 
work, only that is made by hammering the gold into pat- 
terns laid in the enamel. All the silver is marked by the 
Russian Government and bears the stamp R-84, instead 
of Sterling. I bought Philip a pair of brushes. They 
were intended for use in erasing the chalked scores from 
baize card-tables, but we agreed that they would do ex- 
cellently as military hair brushes. 

Other booths proved so alluring that the question of 
trunk room became a serious one. When, the next day, 
we came upon a shop selling boxes and small chests, 
painted and decorated by the muzhiks, we regarded it as 
a providential opportunity to supply ourselves with a 
souvenir which would hold other souvenirs. I hesitated 
between one ornamented with gold and silver spangles, 
and another which bore geometric designs in copper nail 
heads, doubtless forged by a peasant smithy. The cor- 
ners were bound with the same red-brown metal, and 
there were thongs of leather to fasten down the lid, as 
well as a hand-wrought lock. A crash cover was sold 
with it for use in travelling, and the whole came to a 




A Tatar Peddler 



Yarmark Adventures 165 

little over six rubles, or three dollars. " My Russian 
shirt-waist box," I called it. We took it on a drosky 
and drove to an arcade where Vladimir ikons were for 
sale, that is, holy pictures painted in the province of 
Vladimir at Suzdal. These particular ikons were of 
especial interest because they were the handiwork of a 
race of people called Ofeni, direct descendants of those 
who came originally from Constantinople bringing the 
first ikons known in Russia, in the days of Vladimir, 
Prince of Kiev, the Greek Church's first convert in Mus- 
covy. The merchant who displayed the holy pictures, 
big and little, plain and ornate, spoke a Turkish dia- 
lect, and had a sharp physiognomy which denoted his 
ancestry. Lieutenant Sirasky explained that most of the 
ikons on sale were painted in villages where it is the cus- 
tom for each feature to be limned by different workmen. 
For instance: Ksenia makes a specialty of noses, and 
Marfa of eyes, while Mikhei does mouths extra well, and 
Demian has no superior in drawing hands. It is imper- 
ative that the features do not vary in shape or expres- 
sion, and that the old models brought from Byzantium be 
exactly copied; otherwise, how should a muzhik who can- 
not read know St. Nicholas from St. Seraphim? St. 
Nicholas, by the way, is the favourite saint of all, and 
has twice as many holy days as any other saint. A 
peasant's Trinity is " The Father, the Son, and St. 
Nicholas." 

The market for these holy pictures, overlaid with 
metal, is enormous. Every Orthodox household in Rus- 
sia contains one in almost every room ; and more than 
this, there is not a shop, not even a brandy shop, which 
has not its ikon hanging in the main room, on the upper 



166 Honeymooning in Russia 

wall in the right hand corner called " Great," or " Beau- 
tiful." A muzhik's most precious possessions are: 

His samovar 
His ikon 
His child. 



The samovar is the most precious because it is ex- 
pensive and another cannot easily be bought by a poor 
man. The ikon is also very dear, for it costs money, 
too, and the priest will not bless it for nothing. A child 
— of course a child is also to be treasured — but, if it 
dies — God will send another. 

In the wholesale samovar mart were hundreds on ex- 
hibition from Tula, the Russian Pittsburgh, and finer 
ones from Yaroslav. The Orient supplies the tea and 
the Russians send back to the Orient the samovars with 
which to brew it. Also the beet sugar, the refining of 
which is becoming one of the great industries of Russia. 
The samovar is of brass, lined with tin. In the centre 
is a tube in which is placed the braise of red-hot char- 
coal cinders which has been ignited outside. The water 
is poured around the tube of coals, and when it is boil- 
ing, is drawn off by a spigot. Russian tea is taken 
much weaker than is the custom elsewhere, and many 
times, among the peasants who count tea a luxury, " a 
cup of tea " is in reality but a cup of hot water flavoured 
by a tea-leaf. The Tea Depot was most interesting. 
The merchants sat in mat booths, or zinvskas. The 
tea comes in huge wrappers of hide, to keep out the 
moisture. That which Russians consider the finest- 
flavoured is shipped via caravan and the Kama river 



Yarmark Adventures 167 

from the frontier of China. It is sold only in bulk to 
the trade, but there were eight-ruble, one-pound boxes 
put up for the casual visitor, which bore a Mongolian 
label and the seal of the custom-house at Kiatkha. By 
the evening mail we dispatched a package to Phil's 
mother and one to mine. We were weary from tramp- 
ing the miles-long warehouses of the " Siberian Line " 
and agreed to postpone until the next evening the din- 
ner within the Fair City to which our young Polish 
friends had invited us. On the wharves we had watched 
for hours the wiry Tatars unloading barge cargoes for 
the Fair. There were barrels of dried fish from the pro- 
lific fisheries of the Volga and Caspian, coffee from Bra- 
zil, hardware from the province of Novgorod, wine- 
skins from the Caucasus, and watermelons from South 
Russia. Likewise, salt from Perm, cotton from the 
United States, gold from the Urals, silks from Asia, 
and wine from the Crimea and from France. Said 
Philip, as we looked on at the cosmopolitan array, 
" There may be those blase enough to lament that 
Nizhni, because of the inroads of the railways, is now a 
sterile waste from a romantic viewpoint. I can't agree 
with them. We have found something novel and inform- 
ing at the turning of every corner. I am glad we came." 
With which sentiment I concurred, though repeated 
warnings that the Fair was not what it had been, had at 
first somewhat overshadowed my extravagant anticipa- 
tions. 

As the following morning was hot and very sultry, 
we persuaded the lieutenant and his wife to take a 
furlough from the arduous office of guide and interpreter. 
By tins time we knew the way well, and set out to the 



168 Honeymooning in Russia 

Asiatic quarters and the outskirts of the Fair proper. 
Each of the twelve main streets terminates in a pagoda 
of florid architecture, and this assemblage of booths con- 
stitutes the " Chinese Quarter," which is, however, 
guiltless of a queue. A tidal wave of swart humanity 
swept us along the less reputable alleys skirting the 
quarter and the river. Here, turbans and flapping gar- 
ments were more often seen than trousers and starched 
linen. On the decks of the crude barges were Georgian 
girls whose untutored beauty is lauded far beyond the 
borders of their own mountain country of old Iberia. 
Strolling near the water-edge we were but an arm's- 
length from a Tiflis belle who leaned from the tiny win- 
dow of the superstructure which served as a cabin. A 
little wooden cage hung from the ledge of the window 
and in it was a scarlet songster which nibbled at a piece 
of chicory thrust through the bars. The face of the 
red-bird's mistress was oval and tinted delicately as if 
from the reflection of the ripe pomegranate into which 
she had set her white teeth. A pair of silk-fringed lids 
unveiled two merry eyes, and hair, dark as midnight, 
was coiled low over a broad brow. A loose blouse of 
rough azure-coloured silk revealed a throat and breast 
of skin so fair that the veins showed beneath in a blue 
tracery. 

Unconsciously we smiled at the dainty picture, and 
the Georgian girl smiled in return. Then, moved by a 
pretty impulse, she reached her hand into a basket of 
the brilliant fruit within the cabin and tossed us each 
a pomegranate. When Philip unwittingly made a wry 
face at the first bite, she laughed aloud. Then she van- 
ished to appear in a moment at the door. She gestured 



Yarmark Adventures 169 

for us to come aboard, and, hesitating the fraction of a 
minute, we stepped from the shore to the barge deck, 
and mounted the short flight to the cabin. There was a 
woven mat upon the floor, and crisp curtains at the tiny 
windows. Bright embroideries draped the tables and 
chairs. Our little hostess did the honours with Oriental 
grace, bringing a bowl of melons and apricots and set- 
ting out odd-shaped wine glasses. From a buffalo- 
skin she poured wine as deep red as Beaune and with 
a bouquet which met our nostrils like the fragrance of 
grapes upon the vine. We surmised that it was a native 
product, recalling that the vineyards of the Caucasus 
are celebrated. At the first sip our anticipation turned 
to bitterness. It was truly a native product flavoured 
most unappetisingly by the buffalo-skin in which it had 
been transported from the Georgian slopes. And fla- 
voured, also, as we found later from an old Russian gen- 
eral who had been stationed at Derbent, by the naphtha 
with which the skins are coated to make them better 
air-proof. When the girl turned her back to fetch us 
serviettes of red damask, Philip seized the moment to 
empty our glasses into the Oka. We lingered a half- 
hour looking at photographs of the marvellously beau- 
tiful Caucasian mountain scenery, of the Dariel Pass, 
of modern Tiflis and of Baku, the oil metropolis of Rus- 
sia. I wore a small brooch showing the enamelled head 
of an Indian chief, and at this I saw the little Iberian 
glance from time to time. So I finally took it off and 
offered it to her, a slight acknowledgment of her winsome 
courtesy. She was unfeignedly delighted, and I have no 
doubt, looked upon the strange creature with the war- 
feathers in his hair as an ethnological curiosity surpass- 



170 Honeymooning in Russia 

ing any she had ever seen among the cosmopolites of the 
Nizhni Fair. 

She pinned the brooch into the blue of her blouse and 
regarded with satisfaction the effective contrast of 
colours. We bade her a mute but cordial good-bye, 
and walked on along the river-bank. When we looked 
back to the window of the young beauty, we could see 
her leaning again from the window-ledge, calling gaily 
to her companions to come and see the enamelled trin- 
ket, to which she proudly pointed. 

JPhil was for turning back as the surroundings be- 
came less and less inviting. But I was not yet sati- 
ated with Asiatic sights and sounds and pressed him 
against his better judgment to go one step further. 
Strange twanging music sounded from a sort of summer 
garden, and within, we could see men of the East and 
women idling over a game, and sipping yellow chai. 
" Come," I urged my more cautious husband, cautious on 
my account rather than on his own, " if you will just 
go in here and order a glass of tea while I drink my fill, 
not of tea, but this Arabian Nights atmosphere, I won't 
beg to go to another place to-day." 

" But, Joyce, you know what the lieutenant said the 
last thing. I don't like the look of this crowd. To a 
girl it seems all romance, this turban-and-belted-robe, 
sombre-eyes-and-olive-skin-business, but a man knows 
the dirty souls within their straight carcasses. I don't 
care about having you look at them, and I don't know 
that I want them to look at you — too hard." 

"Oh, jealous, Philip!" I twitted unfairly. "It's 
only a phase of life I want to see. Please! And after- 
wards I'll do exactly as you ask," 



Yarmark Adventures 171 

Of course he yielded. " I don't know why I have so 
little character when you beg that way," he scolded. 
" But come on, I guess I can take care of you. There's 
a table in the corner." 

" No, we can't see so well there. We'll take that one 
the waiter is motioning us to. I am hungry," I said 
when we were fairly seated. " Couldn't we have lunch- 
eon here? They probably have things to eat as well as 
to drink." So Philip snapped a finger for the too- 
eager waiter, and I inquired in French for the menu. 

" There is no menu, Madame," he replied with an 
atrocious accent. " For our customers it would need 
to be written in Russian and Armenian, and besides — 
in Arabic and Tatar. So I must tell to each one in his 
own tongue what dishes are prepared. If it please you, 
I will recount them in German, French or Italian. It is 
as Madame wishes." I cut short his volubility by re- 
questing a brief recital in French. And he began auto- 
matically to relate that there was mushroom soup, and 
an excellent dish made of fresh fish and fermented cab- 
bage with white grapes baked crisp on top. Or, if we 
preferred, we might have sturgeon pates with isinglass. 
Also, there was mutton with buckwheat dressing, and, of 
course, cucumbers, dwarf cucumbers from Kostroma, 
superbly flavoured. For dessert we were offered klubiuka, 
chestnuts, honey and grapes. Philip looked dubious 
when I translated the bill of fare. " Oh, let us be sensi- 
ble, Joyce, and go back to comparative civilisation for 
luncheon. We can't eat such — messes." 

Two tall Orientals in striped over-garments and white 
turbans, entered the garden and sat down on mats, pre- 
paratory to taking out long pipes. 



172 Honeymooning in Russia 

" Oh, Phil, dear, don't take me away now," I walled. 
" Here we are seeing the creatures almost in their native 
environment." 

" Alright," said my husband crossly, " order what you 
choose. This is your party." So I named to the smil- 
ing waiter, whose soiled silk shirt had been brushing my 
shoulder, the dishes which I judged would be the least 
offensive to our western palates, and sent him away. 
Then I leaned my elbows unconventionally upon the 
round unsteady table and proceeded to study mankind 
as exampled in the hook-nosed long-faced Armenians 
with their daintily-featured country-women, and another 
group who, I decided, were probably Turcomans. My 
attention was distracted from these by the entrance of 
five or six perfectly superb figures, with brilliant eyes 
and fresh colour. They walked with the haughty gait 
of the savage, their tunics sweeping from stalwart 
shoulders and flapping against high red boots. 

The heads were shaven except for a long dark lock 
which fell from the crown, and they wore heavy mous- 
taches. I nudged Phil to look at them, but he would 
not, and persisted in regarding attentively the abstruse 
tables of the Nizhni-Moscow train schedule. " Very 
well," I murmured, " sulk ! I didn't know you had it in 
you. Here we are in a perfectly fascinating Perso- 
Turco-Armenian haunt, and you are trying to spoil it 
all." 

" If you call fascinating those greasy, hawk-eyed 
grubbers in their bath-robe clothes, I will not contend with 
you. I thought you had different tastes." That was 
too unreasonable to answer, and I said so. After a 
while, I began again in a cheerful attempt to smooth 




The Chapel of the Iversky Virgin 



Yarmarh Adventures 173 

over the unpleasantness. " Those men smoking the 
pipes are Persians, I am sure. They look exactly like 
that patriarch who tried to cheat you about the cat's- 
eye, remember?" No answer. "Oh, alright — " I be- 
gan. Philip was staring savagely at a group who were 
staring impudently back at us. 

" Philip," I warned, " you can't correct the manners 
of barbarians. Stop glaring at those people. If they 
are annoying you, you can pretend not to see them." 

" I don't want to pretend not to see them," he re- 
sisted stubbornly. " I want them to see they can't force 
their insolent attentions on two Americans who are at 
least minding their own affairs." Which wasn't quite 
reasonable, since / had been devoting every minute to at- 
tending to theirs ! However, there was no use trying to 
calm him. If the waiter had not at that moment ap- 
peared with the mushroom soup I should have insisted 
that we depart for a less irritating place to lunch. 
Every time I raised my eyes I dropped them again in 
confusion, for never once did I fail to encounter glances 
from the shaven-headed stalwarts, which sent the blood 
to my temples. At last I could bear it no longer, and 
confessed to my husband that I was ready, quite ready, 
to go as soon as we could get the waiter's attention and 
ask for the bill. As we pushed back our chairs from 
the half-consumed luncheon, the boldest of the group 
opposite arose also and started to the door. The Ar- 
menians and their women had already gone out. We 
were almost alone in the restaurant with the audacious 
scoundrels. The one at the door looked into the street 
and turned back excitedly. He began to talk with great 
rapidity. The others crowded close and there was more 



174 Honeymooning in Russia 

talk and gesticulation. " What do you suppose it is all 
about? " I said to Phil, as we shoved our way between 
tables and chairs. 

" I haven't the least notion, but I propose to get out 
of this place before we are hemmed in. Follow me," he 
commanded sharply. As we drew near the doorway the 
group pushed close about us and jostled Phil to one 
side. " Joyce," he called quickly, " go into the street. 
If you see a policeman, send him here, but get out, what- 
ever you do." I turned to the arbour arch, but two 
knaves in flowing white stood in my path. " I can't get 
past these men," I cried, aghast at the position into 
which my whims had forced us. 

As I spoke, a black-haired girl in European dress 
came in a side entrance and stopped in amazement at 
the melee before her. Phil, against the wall, was strik- 
ing out with vigorous fists across the little table out of 
which he had made a barricade for himself. So swift 
was the play of his arms that the Asiatics, unused to 
such tactics, were unable to seize hold of him as they had 
evidently attempted to do. Their purpose had un- 
doubtedly been robbery only, but, their victim proving 
so stubborn an opponent, I began to fear that they would 
not long delay in resorting to methods to which they 
were probably only too well accustomed. An ugly kin- 
jal protruded through the belt of a swarthy brute near 
me, and I saw him finger it tentatively. "Mademoi- 
selle," I screamed to the young woman with the black 
hair who had run towards the struggling figures, " do 
something to save us. They will kill my husband ! " In 
my excitement I besought her in English, and in English 
she turned and answered me ! 



Yarmark Adventures 175 

" I will do what I can. Stay where you are." She 
seized the arm of one of the men and spoke harshly to 
the others in a savage tongue. At once they left off 
the unequal contest and fell to jabbering altogether, 
while Philip, quite breathless, leaned against the wall, 
white with rage. 

For minutes which to me, shaking and faint, became 
hours, the men and the girl discussed in their uncouth 
speech. At last the argument came to an end, and the 
young woman addressed Philip, motioning to the others 
to be silent. " Have you money with you, sir? Much 
money ? " 

" If you will promise that those cowards will not at- 
tack me while my hands are in my pockets, I will show 
you what I have." 

" No," I cried, " they will not believe you. Let the 
girl search." So Philip, still standing against the wall, 
opened wide his coat and the girl ran her long white 
hands into his pockets, laying on the table what she 
found. Too weak to stand, I sat down on a bench, pray- 
ing the Fates that Phil had left with the lieutenant his 
watch and letter of credit. In a chamois bag about 
my neck was nearly all of the currency we had with us. 
Unless the vandals insisted upon my being searched also, 
our loss could not be very great, if he had taken the lieu- 
tenant's advice. 

When the pile upon the table was complete, I sighed 
with relief, for there was nothing there of any value ex- 
cept a few ruble notes and a silver knife. The men made 
a move to crowd closer to finger the belongings, but the 
girl imperiously waved them back. She opened the bill 
folder for them to see how little reposed there. She dis- 



176 Honeymooning in Russia 

played for their satisfaction a bunch of keys on a key 
chain ; she shook out some clippings from a note-book and 
unclasped a pocket-case containing my picture. In the 
change pocket she had found some silver and three Amer- 
ican cents. 

The would-be robbers looked from one to the other and 
back to the insignificant heap on the table. Then with 
one accord their keen eyes turned on me. " It is coming ! " 
I thought, breathing a petition that at least the bulky 
letter from Mademoiselle Ahary to the Moscow girl might 
remain undiscovered within the blind pocket of my petti- 
coat. I wore no ring but Phil's gold circlet on my left 
hand. My brooch shone on the breast of a young 
Georgian. Evidently it did not once occur to the savages 
that a man would entrust to a woman a considerable sum 
of money. They withdrew their greedy eyes. My little 
store and the letter were safe! I opened my chatelaine 
bag to find my handkerchief, as I smiled wanly at my 
husband, who was still too angry to smile back. The man 
nearest me had seen the movement. He spoke to the other 
men. That bag's contents had not been divulged. Should 
they let that go unsearched? his expressive hands de- 
manded. The others surged toward me a step or two, and 
Phil leaped from his place by the wall. " Get back, you 
scoundrels ! " he yelled. " Don't you lay one of your 
rascally fingers on her! Joyce, show the girl what you 
have in that bag." 

I turned it upside down on the table. Out rolled a 
wee gold pencil and a silver vanity box — hand-engraved 
and fitted with miniature toilet articles. As its glitter 
caught the glance of one of the robbers he sprang for 
it, but I was the quicker. In a trice I had caught it up 



Yarmark Adventures 177 

and stood glaring defiantly at the villain who would rob 
me of one of my dearest possessions. Then a clamour 
arose about the ears of the young woman. Evidently the 
price of our freedom was the release of all our belong- 
ings which seemed good to the robbers. The girl turned 
to me deprecatingly. " I am sorry. You must give it 
to me. Perhaps they will not want to keep it." 

I flung it on the ground. " There, you barbarians, 
take it, and much good may it do you! " 

The fall sprung the catch and, to the chagrin of the 
bandits, there rolled onto the sandy floor, not gold, but 
a tiny powder puff! A young fellow with defiant eyes 
and a great scar streaking his cheek, gathered up the 
absurd file and looking-glass, and to the glee of his com- 
panions began to dab powder on his straight nose, the 
while regarding himself complacently in the mirror. I 
looked at Phil, my lips quivering with suppressed mirth, 
but he was still glowering fiercely at the outrageous 
rogues. Then, as they made no further move to restrain 
us, he seized his hat from the floor and shouted, " Run 
for it, j ena. Here's our chance ! " We gained the door 
and were in the street, when we heard the girl's voice call- 
ing. In trepidation I looked over my shoulder. She was 
running after us with Phil's trinkets in her hands. " You 
are very good, I am sure," he said gratefully. " I was 
sorry to run off without telling you how we appreciated 
your good offices. Won't you let me know how I can 
reward you?" 

But she shook her head. " You are an American 
gentleman," she said. " I have been in America to 
dance at your St. Louis Fair. Americans were kind to 
me. I am glad I came in time to save you — for I 



178 Honeymooning in Russia 

think they would have killed you, perhaps, — my country- 
men." 

" Yes, your countrymen are rather ugly customers. 
May I ask to what nation they owe allegiance ? " 

" We are from the mountains of Circassia," she re- 
plied. "It is not there a sin to rob." Circassians ! 
Fierce and uncouth as the crags of their native Caucasus 
— marauders by birth ! The black-haired girl turned to 
go. " Please wait," I called after her, quickly pencilling 
our pension address on one of Phil's cards. " Come to us 
to-morrow. We must find some way to show our appre- 
ciation of your bravery and quick wit." 

An opportune drosky drew up to the curb at Phil's 
raised finger. 

"Will you come?" I said, as we drove off. But she 
shook her head. 

" She will not come," said Philip, and his prophecy 
proved correct. We never saw our saviour again. We 
drove back through the long busy streets, over the bridge 
of boats and up the steep hill to the Kremlin, I silent, 
chastened — Philip still somewhat shaken by our melo- 
dramatic experience. We decided not to relate the inci- 
dent to the lieutenant and his wife, and accordingly went 
with them in the evening to dine at Nikita's, our lips 
sealed on the subject of our day's adventure. 

The broad wooden building occupied by Moscow's fa- 
mous restaurateur was filled with merchants from almost 
every country on the globe. 

" These," said the lieutenant, " are the sons of men 
who used to bring to Nizhni their entire stock of goods, 
for it was not formerly the custom to show here samples 
merely. Since their fathers' day, the banking system 



Yarmark Adventures 179 

has also completely altered. Now the Orientals accept 
cheques and drafts, but a few years ago all settlements 
were made in cash." 

" Good picking for thieves, with the business of the 
Fair amounting to millions upon millions of rubles." 

" Excellent," agreed the lieutenant, " provided those 
with cash in their pockets wandered indiscreetly beyond 
the legitimate limits of the Fair." 

" Is it dangerous to go to the outskirts ? " I inquired 
with guilty innocence. 

" It is positively hazardous of both life and pocket- 
book, Madame. There are Khesvurs from the provinces 
of the Caucasus to whom the taking of a life would be 
but a day's incident, if robbery were the motive." 

I refrained from looking at Philip as he nonchalantly 
fingered his glass. 

" Well, here's to a kind Fate," he murmured, " and 
better sense next time ! " Whereat he poked my foot 
under the table and gave me a mischievous glance. 



Cg3 Cg3 Cg3 

Chapter XII 

MOSCOW AND A LETTER OF INTRODUCTION 

W E had been in Moscow three days before we went to 
the Kremlin. From our balcony across the Moskva, we 
had steeped our souls in the sight of its fabled heights, 
garishly flaunting their gold and blue, their red, green, 
and silver in the brilliance of noonday, and, again, veil- 
ing their glitter beneath the enchanting mystery of moon- 
light. We had seen pinnacle and turret, cross and cupola 
radiant with the reflection of setting sun and turquoise 
sky. Each morning we had looked upon it bathed in the 
enhancing mist of dawn — a dream of the East, a glory 
of line and symmetry ! Before we passed under its gates, 
I wished to be so held by the spell of its external beauty 
that neither shabby plaster nor too-showy embellishment 
could later dispel the memory of the gentle river, the rib- 
bon of foliage, the snowy battlements, the crown of 
towers. 

In the days since we had entered the white walls of 
Holy Mother Moscow, we had wandered for miles through 
a maze of streets and bazaars ; had gone out to the resorts 
of Marina Roschia and the woods of Lakoluiki ; had visited 
an old convent on the borders of the town, and had made 
a pilgrimage to the gorgeous Temple of the Saviour, built 
in gratitude for the deliverance of Moscow from the army 
of Napoleon in 1812 and adorned with a series of paint- 
ings by Vereschagin. 

We had also been through the Foundling Asylum, or 

180 



Moscow and a Letter of Introduction 181 

House of Education, elder sister to the one in Peters- 
burgh. The Government playing-card monopoly, and 
pawn-shops, and revenues from lands bequeathed by va- 
rious monarchs yield an income of millions of dollars a 
year. About fifteen thousand waifs are admitted an- 
nually. Eight hundred nurses and six hundred teachers 
care for and instruct the wards of the Government. 

Each child has a nurse, usually a peasant woman, who 
is paid fifteen cents a day. The well babies are sent 
with their foster-mothers into the country at the age of 
four weeks, but about half of them die in infancy. When 
they are of school age, they return to the institution, and 
there, the one-third who live to be educated, are taught 
elementary studies and certain trades, as well as French, 
German, and music, if they show promise. The girls are 
in demand for governesses because of their superior in- 
struction, and the boys become artisans, soldiers, and 
farmers. From their entrance into the Asylum, about a 
cent a week is laid by for each child, and, in the case of 
the girls, the accumulated amount serves as a dowry when 
they marry. They often make good matches, for they are 
not, as a rule, handicapped by the possession of immediate 
relatives ! 

On a fair August morning, we loitered across the Stone 
Bridge, turned up the inclined road leading to the Trinity 
Gate, and entered the triangle enclosing the Kremlin. The 
French invaders passed under the same arch when they 
climbed the hill to loot the cathedrals and palaces con- 
tained within the bastions of the fortress, and later, fled 
through it with the flames of the burning city at their 
backs. 

For two reasons we chose to go first to the insignificant 



182 Honeymooning in Russia 

church of the Saviour in the Wood, huddled beneath the 
overhanging walls of the immense palace of the Emperors. 
First, it is the mother of the five hundred churches of 
Moscow; second, it is the shrine at which maidens pray 
who are about to become brides. At the door we bought 
three wax candles, for I had a fancy to follow the ancient 
law-of -brides and place a glowing taper before the faded 
paintings of the three martyrs who do especially intercede 
for the happiness of those treading the vestibule of matri- 
mony. Philip stood by the door while I made my pil- 
grimage from shrine to shrine where devout young figures 
were already kneeling. And as I lighted each taper and 
set it in an empty sconce I, too, said a prayer for Heaven's 
blessing upon a union, not to-be, but already consum- 
mated. At the third shrine, a young girl was weeping 
silently as she knelt on the stone floor — weeping, per- 
haps, because she was an unwilling bride. 

When I joined my Philip and we passed out the low 
doorway, under which so many have passed with beating, 
hopeful hearts, I looked into his face and smiled. " Did 
you mind waiting ?"I said softly. 

"No, I liked it, jena dear. If you want to, we will 
come again." And more than once after that we did go 
again, to rest a moment in the dim church of the Praying 
Brides. 

Until noon we wandered through the pink and blue 
and white silk-hung halls of the Great Palace, and down 
corridors leading to terraces haunted by memories of old 
Muscovy. In the throne-room of ancient Tsars, under 
low frescoed arches, the feast is laid at which the new 
Emperor sits with his nobles after the coronation, when 




c 



o 
w 



Pi 



Moscow and a Letter of Introduction 183 

the shelves surrounding the central pillar are filled with 
marvellous gold plate and imperial insignia. 

The intimate apartments of the royal families of old 
are in the Terem, where an essentially Russian atmosphere 
prevails. Here we could imagine the imperial mothers 
surrounded by future Tsars and Grand Dukes, happy to 
withdraw from the tempestuous life at court to the com- 
parative tranquillity of their own domestic circle. To 
every Russian peasant, the upper part of a house is still 
the Terem, sacred to the mother and children of the house- 
hold. From the balcony we looked out upon a foreground 
of roofs and minarets, and beyond, to the city of Moscow 
set upon its seven hills embraced in the winding arms of 
the Moskva. 

The throne used by Peter the Great's father, which 
stands in the Treasury, is encrusted with nearly a thousand 
diamonds and more than a thousand rubies and pearls. 
The crown of Michael Romanov exhibits the unrivalled art 
of Russian workers in enamel and is bordered by nearly 
two hundred jewels. The mitre of Peter the Great's 
brother John is embellished with a thousand diamonds. In 
the crown ordered by Peter for his second empress there 
are over two thousand diamonds besides coloured gems of 
great value. " Not a bad dust-cap," Philip commented, 
recalling the humble occupation of the first Catherine. 

When an Orthodox baby is baptised, its eyelids, ears, 
mouth, hands and feet are touched by the priest with holy 
mir. In the sacristy of the Holy Synod we saw the silver 
kettles and the jars, one for each bishopric, in which the 
oil is prepared and sent out to the bishops following the 
sacred ceremony of its distilling at intervals of two or 



184 Honeymooning in Russia 

three years. At their coronation, the Tsars are anointed 
with the same holy chrysm. Every utensil used in its 
preparation is of silver and every drop is consecrated as it 
is filtered into the silver vessels. The base of the precious 
mixture consists of drops which fell as Mary Magdalen 
bathed the feet of Christ, according to the Russian belief. 
With the sacred fluid are united wine, oil and spices. In 
this treasure-house of the Greek Church there were also 
priests' robes, panagias, mitres, crosiers and ecclesiastical 
vessels weighty with precious stones, a scintillating mani- 
festation of pagan devotion. 

In the Cathedral of the Assumption, Tsars are crowned, 
in the Church of the Annunciation they are married, and 
in the Crypt of the Archangel Michael, those who reigned 
before Peter the Great are buried. 

If the Moscow Kremlin is the incarnation of Russia, 
the Cathedral of the Assumption is its heart. Externally, 
it is ornate in the Russian style; within, the massing of 
colour is almost overwhelming, affecting the eyes as does 
cape jasmine the nostrils. The superlative richness of the 
painted walls, the massive shrines, the glistening altars ; 
the effulgence of the ikonastas and its jewelled relics exceed 
imagination. 

In the nave, the Tsars of Russia crown themselves Em- 
peror of Russia, Tsar of Moscow, Grand Duke of Finland, 
Prince of Esthonia, and through the Royal Doors, which 
swing but this once to the touch of the imperial hand, 
they pass to the sacred feast spread for them upon the high 
altar. 

The bones of the once-powerful patriarch Nikon are 
venerated as they lie under a golden tomb. Another 
shrine, made of silver, shelters the dust of St, Philip, who, 



Moscow and a Letter of Introduction 185 

because he dared to speak the truth to Ivan the Terrible, 
was beaten and driven from this church to the monastery 
where he was afterwards murdered. 

Within the unpretentious walls of the Annunciation 
Church, Napoleon's horses were tethered under the staring 
eyes of saints and martyrs. Soft nostrils sniffed about 
the gilded altars for stray grain, and the cathedral of 
imperial weddings resounded with the stamping of hoofs 
on the jasper floor. The images, and the relics of the 
crucifixion, brought from Constantinople nearly six hun- 
dred years ago, were removed from the edifice before its 
desecration, being replaced upon the restoration of Mos- 
cow. 

The grandson of Alexander Nevsky was the first Tsar 
to be laid in the ancient mausoleum of the Archangel 
Michael; here lie also, by an historic coincidence, the last 
princes of the houses of Rurik and Romanov — Dmitri, 
who was stabbed by command of his ambitious uncle, 
Boris Gudonov, and Theodore I, elder brother to Dmitri; 
likewise, Peter II, in whose death died the dynasty of the 
Romanovs. Dmitri lies in a silver shrine, and is counted 
a martyr. The tomb of John the Terrible is strangely 
honoured by a place next the altar. Philip could have 
gone behind the screen, to see the golden books and vessels 
bestrewn with emeralds and pearls, but he refused. " I 
can't," he protested, " my senses are satiated. I am nau- 
seated with beauty. Let me go where I can see coarse 
grass and rude trees ! " So we went that evening to dine 
in the People's Park, where we saw sportive Moscow at its 
plainest. 

Swings and wooden toboggan slides were filled with 
merrv-makers, who, however, took their outing stoically 



186 Honeymooning in Russia 

and without laughter. A performer on the garmonka, or 
accordion, was sure to have an admiring audience. A 
trio, who sang and thrummed a balalaika, a sort of guitar, 
were also well received. Venders of tea and kvas did a 
flattering business, offering their wares without the boister- 
ous insistence usually associated with their vocation. 
Group after group sat dawdling over the tea-cup and 
samovar. And at midnight, they were dawdling still. 

We had purposely delayed in presenting our letters to 
the friends of Prince K. and Mademoiselle Ahary because 
we wished neither of them to feel the wearisome obligation 
of showing us " the sights." But when we had been in 
Moscow a week, had climbed the tower of Tall John — 
Ivan Veliki ; had measured our height by the colossal sides 
of the Monarch Bell which, broken by a fall from a burn- 
ing tower, stands twenty feet high and weighs over three 
hundred thousand pounds ; when we had seen the Tsar 
cannon, and had driven out to the red Petrovsky palace, 
where the Tsarevitch, awaiting to be crowned, spends three 
days in fasting and prayer ; when we had heard the gypsies 
sing in the park, and had been out the Tverskaya Boule- 
vard to the trotting races run on a track of pounded brick 
dust, and had seen the principal race won by an American 
j ockey " up " on a Kentucky filly, we felt that the ma j or 
part of our sight-seeing had been accomplished and that 
consideration no. longer demanded further delay. But 
when Philip came to look for the letter of the Prince, he 
could not find it. When we left Vologda he had, pre- 
sumably, placed it in his memorandum book. Whether he 
had removed it later and put it elsewhere, he could not re- 
member. " Never mind," he exclaimed, as an illuminating 
thought dispersed the cloud of our disappointment, " I 



Moscow and a Letter of Introduction 187 

remember the firm of which the Prince said his friend was 
president. I will look up the address in the telephone 
book (with the assistance of the doorman downstairs), hie 
me to the proper street and number, ask for the president, 
and announce myself as the American friend of whom 
Prince K. said he had already written." As this scheme 
seemed practicable, Philip went on his way the next morn- 
ing, after driving me first to the Tretiakov Gallery, where 
it was agreed he should join me later. 

Under the skylights of this picture gallery are gath- 
ered some of the best examples of the infant Russian 
school of painting. The Russian artist, whether musi- 
cian, painter, or actor, tells only what he has seen and felt. 
He does not originate forms, allegories, characters which 
are extraneous to his own nature and experience. The 
brush of the landscapist draws scenery which actually 
exists. Volkov, one may be sure, has seen with his own 
eyes the marshes, glades and birch-trees which he has put 
upon canvas. And so with Dobrovolsky, who paints the 
steppes with boggy roads in perspective, and Bogolubov, 
who does sun-lit marines. Schverzov has been face to face 
with his muzhik models, and, likewise, Maximov's poor 
have sat to him in the life. Russian art is natural, realis- 
tic, and most affecting. Find, if you can, paintings more 
heart-stirring than Repin's. In every picture of burlak, 
convict, and exile there is a vital story. His master, 
Kramskoi, is represented in the Tretiakov gallery by por- 
traits of Turgenev, Dostoievski, and Bielinsky, Russia's 
most noted literary critic. With Vereschagin's art Amer- 
icans are acquainted, and, as well, with the tragedy which 
removed prematurely one of the world's best endowed 
artists. I was seated with French catalogue in hand be- 



188 Honeymooning in Russia 

fore one of the sculptures of Autopolski, when Philip 
came for me. " Joyce," he began, looking worried, 
" what is the name of Mile. Marie's friend to whom we 
are to deliver her letter? " 

" Liuba Marilov," I responded promptly. I had fixed 
it ineffaceably upon my memory, since Mile. Ahary had 
not dared to write the address upon the envelope in case 
we should lose it, and the written name should bring us 
all into trouble. 

" Marilov? " echoed Philip. " You are sure? " 

" Never surer of any name in my life." 

" Well, it may be only a coincidence, but do you know 
the name of Prince K.'s friend is Marilov, also. Funny, 
isn't it? " 

" Rather odd," I corrected, " but not so mysteriously 
strange as your manner would indicate." 

" I am thinking of the complications, in case it should 
turn out that Liuba Marilov is the daughter of Marilov, 
head of the bridge-building works, which I have just been 
inspecting." 

" Complications ? " 

" Don't you think it would be rather awkward to find 
ourselves in the position of having to communicate a 
secret message to the daughter of the house where we 
have been invited to dine by a host who is a rabid Re- 
actionary, opposed to every hint of revolution and re- 
form?" 

" Well, yes." 

" What are we going to do about it ? I have accepted 
Mr. Marilov's invitation for to-morrow night. His wife 
will call on you this afternoon." 

" That will perhaps give us an opportunity to discover 



Moscow and a Letter of Introduction 189 

whether Marie's comrade, who, by-the-way, is a civil engi- 
neer, bears the same name as the Prince's friend by acci- 
dent only, or by — " 

" By birth," finished Phil. 

When, some hours later, a house-boy brought me the 
cards of Madame and Mademoiselle Marilov, I felt intui- 
tively that upon their ascending to our sitting-room, I 
should see the girl into whose hands we had promised to 
deliver the thick packet, which I had safeguarded night 
and day ever since the morning we said good-bye to 
Marie. But how, without arousing the suspicion of her 
mother, was I to tell her this afternoon whose emissaries 
we were, and make an appointment when we might safely 
execute our mission? 

Madame Marilov extended her hand with high-bred 
grace. "You will pardon, I am sure, I do not speak 
much English — a little only, but we must come a, l'in- 
stant to meet the friends of Prince K. My daughter," 
she said with a pretty move of her hand, " she knows the 
English well. She can express better our pleasure to see 
you in Moscow." Happy was already making Mile. 
Marilov welcome in best puppy-dog fashion and was, in 
turn, being patted and exclaimed over by an attractive girl 
dressed from the tip of her ostrich plumes to the hem of 
her broderie gown in the height of the prevailing Paris 
fashion. " This cannot be she," my glance said to Philip. 
" This modish creature cannot be a graduate civil engi- 
neer, and a comrade of revolutionists." I dismissed the 
notion as absurd, and forgot the necessity of communicat- 
ing to her the mysterious phrase confided to us by Mile. 
Ahary. Philip brought chairs for us to sit on the bal- 
cony. 



190 Honeymooning in Russia 

" Such a darling dog ! " Mile. Marilov exclaimed, drag- 
ging the delighted Happy over her embroideries and al- 
lowing her to lick her gloves in a vain effort to reach the 
hands beneath. " Did you bring her all the way from 
America?" 

" No indeed, she is a Russian of the Russians. Prince 
K.'s baby was her first mistress, but I grew so fond of her 
that he gave her to me." 

" And you are going to take her with you every place 
you go?" 

" Every place we go," I responded, laughing. " I con- 
fess that I am quite foolish about her. She is such an 
affectionate little creature, it would be an austere person 
indeed who could resist her adorable ways. Don't you 
think her eyes are nearly human? " 

Mile. Marilov held the little dog-face between her hands 
and looked into it sympathetically. 

" I never see so nearly human an animal as this," strok- 
ing the white silk ears, " without being reminded of 
Turgenev's prose poem about a little ape which kept him 
company during a foggy crossing to England. Do you 
remember it? The monkey was being forwarded to some- 
one in London and was chained to the leg of a deck seat. 
Every time Turgenev passed, the creature would put out 
its small cold paw — hand, he calls it, and he would take 
it in his and sit down by it until the poor little shivering 
ape would grow quiet and stop its peeping. • The captain 
was gruff and Turgenev was the only passenger, so, when 
they were befogged for some hours, he found comfort in 
the company of the monkey, child of their common mother, 
Nature." 

" Is not this a charmant view of the fortress, Liuba? " 




Tsar Alexis Michaelovitch and Nikon at Tomb 
of St. Philip in the Cathedral of The 
Assumption, Moscow 



Moscow and a Letter of Introduction 191 

Madame Marilov had been chatting animatedly with 
Philip as they stood by the railing looking up and down 
the river. At her question, my husband turned involun- 
tarily and looked at me. Liuba? That was the name of 
Marie's friend. Then this was she after all! 

" You will remain some time longer in Moscow? " Made- 
moiselle Liuba inquired. " Have you enjoyed it? I am 
glad that we were in the city. My brother has been ill and 
we came in to be near him." 

" We have enjoyed every minute of it," I replied, mak- 
ing a sudden resolve as I saw that the two by the balcony 
railing had resumed their conversation. " And the 
weather has been ideal until the past few days. If the 
clouds clear again we shall stay on awhile longer." 

" If the clouds clear," she repeated very slowly, search- 
ing my face. 

" We met at Prince K.'s house the daughter of Captain 
Sheikh- Ahary, who made us her confidants." 

" Then you have — something — " 

" Something for you. When may I deliver it? " 

" I know what it is," she said in a low voice. " She 
promised when I last saw her that she would send it some- 
time by someone she could trust. I was then under the 
surveillance of the Petersburgh police, and did not dare 
to bring it with me." 

" You are not now under surveillance? " 

" Once a suspect, always a suspect — the Third Sec- 
tion never forgets. For some time, however, I have been 
so fortunate as to have been spared any direct annoyance. 
My father's position — " 

" Liuba, Mr. Houghton has said he will bring his wife 
to spend a night with you at Shulov." 



192 Honeymooning in Russia 

" That will be delightful. I have been regretting that 
I must go back to-morrow morning to our estate, as there 
are many things to be attended to at this time of the year. 
If you will come to Shulov, I shall be so very glad." 

" It will be a great pleasure, will it not, Philip ? " I 
was relieved at this solution of the problem. At Shulov 
we should not have to see the daughter under the eye of 
her father. 

"Then shall we make it Thursday afternoon? I will 
meet you at our little station and we shall have time to 
drive to the Troi'tsa Monastery before going to the 
house." 

" Oh, you are near to the Trinity Monastery. We had 
planned to go there." 

" We shall be indebted more than ever to Prince K.," 
I said, as we made an appointment to dine the following 
evening, not at the town house of the Marilov's, because 
of the son's illness, but at a cafe near the Hermitage 
Gardens. Two days later we were to take an early after- 
noon train from the Yaroslav station, on the outskirts of 
the city, to stay a day and a night with Mademoiselle 
Marilov in the country. 

" And you won't fail to bring the puppy ? " she urged 
at the door, as Philip went ahead to see Madame Marilov 
to her kareta. Then, as they turned the corner of the 
corridor, " I haven't a pocket anywhere in this ridiculous 
dress, so I must ask you to keep the letter for me until 
you come to Shulov." 

"Let us hope it will not rain for our excursion into 
the country," I said, pressing her hand. 

" Yes," she replied, smiling, " let us pray that the 
clouds will clear ! " 



Moscow and a Letter of Introduction 193 

We were about setting out the next morning for a stroll 
on the Petrovka, when a messenger came with a note from 
Madame Marilov, written in French, because, as she ex- 
plained, " to write in English was for her not easy." 

" Madame is herself ill with a sick headache, which 
means that she will probably not be able to leave her bed 
in time to dine to-night. Monsieur Marilov begs that we 
will do him the pleasure to meet him at one o'clock for 
luncheon at the Troi'tska restaurant where it will perhaps 
interest us to see the — what's this, Philip, the stock 
brokers ? " 

" Oh, yes, he was telling about the place yesterday. 
The bourse is held on the pavement below this great traktir 
and the brokers complete their transactions over the lunch- 
table in the cafe above. It is one of the best restaurants 
in the city." 

" Well, then, I must go back and change my dress if 
we are going to so mannish a place for lunch," I faltered. 
But instead of wailing, man-like, over the time he should 
have to wait while I dressed, my vain husband seconded 
the suggestion. " Put on your prettiest — I like that 
blue fluffy one and the black hat." 

" Oh, but the blue fluffy one is too wrinkled, I am 
afraid. I'll see though. Perhaps the hand-maiden pressed 
it out as I asked her to do." To Phil's gratification, this 
proved to be the case. " These Russian servants are the 
most attentive and willing I ever saw," I commended, 
drawing on my gloves. " I don't suppose this chamber- 
maid has more than three dollars a month." 

" Probably not that. The boots gets two. I asked the 
courier. The poor fellow looked so peaked when he came 
up with my shoes the other morning that I gave him thirty 



194 Honeymooning in Russia 

kopeks and he was going to kiss my hand, but I gave him 
sixty more not to. And then you should have seen his 
face!" 

" There are more servants in Petersburgh, in propor- 
tion to the population, than in any European city. Mrs. 
Jordan said so. She said they often slept, even in the 
richest houses, in rooms like closets without a single win- 
dow, and that they were frequently on duty until two in 
the morning to serve the late supper." 

" And if they came to America, they would not give 
half the service for twice the money! What did you do 
with Happy? " 

" Left her with the maid. Poor puppy, she doesn't 
like the days when we go visiting churches and accept in- 
vitations to lunch." Until one o'clock we wandered along 
the Petrovka, looking in the windows of Moscow's Broad- 
way and lower Fifth Avenue. The shops were much 
superior to Petersburgh's — as enticing as those of 
Vienna and Paris, if the increasing slimness of my pocket- 
book was any criterion. On a comer near the Opera 
House, the theatres, and the Metropole Hotel is the largest 
department store in the city, a tall building which re- 
minded us of the huge shops of New York and Chicago. 

At the door of the traktir we met the Prince's friend, a 
heavy-set man with an eye for commerce, a coarse jaw, and 
a suave manner. In an immense room, twelve times the 
size of an ordinary cafe, we found the table which M. 
Marilov had already reserved. 

" I have been in the Rheingold restaurant in Berlin," 
remark ;d Philip over the zakuska, " but I don't remem- 
ber that it contains so large a single room as this." 

" Perhaps not, though the Rheingold is much larger 



'Moscow and a Letter of Introduction 195 

than the Troitska. It seats four thousand if I remem- 
ber correctly." 

"At least the Troitska is more picturesque." Over a 
hundred waiters in white shirts and trousers with blue 
belts, were flitting from table to table, serving to the hun- 
dreds of patrons the fish of the Volga and Caspian, the 
game of Siberia, the fruits and vegetables of Little Russia, 
the wines of the Caucasus, the Don, and the Crimea. 

" My husband tells me that you have a most interesting 
plant, M. Marilov," I said, trying not to make a wry face 
over the cold soup — a green pond floating with fish and 
cucumber dice. " How many workmen have you ? " I 
helped myself to piroghi, tiny pastry shells which, filled 
with chopped meat, or fish and egg, help to make appetis- 
ing the most doubtful of porridge concoctions. 

" The number varies between winter and summer. 
When the harvest is past, thousands of muzhiks swarm 
into the cities to work the next six months in factories. 
In the winter we employ perhaps three thousand men." 

" Do they work in artels ? " The two men smiled at 
the word. " Isn't that right? I am sure I read once that 
all Russian workmen were members of co-operative bands 
called artels." 

" You are perfectly right, Mrs. Houghton. Your 
husband and I were but amused that you should be so 
well informed concerning things commercial." 

" But my information does not extend beyond an ac- 
quaintance with the term itself. How do they co-operate, 
please ? " 

"When the — Won't you have more of the sterlet? 
No ? Or you, Mr. Houghton ? That's right — I am glad 
you appreciate the finest fish that swims the rivers of 



196 Honeymooning in Russia 

Russia. . . . When the village people set out for the 
city, they choose a manager who negotiates with a factory 
for the services of all those in the artel. This manager 
often acts as steward also, uniting with other managers, 
lodged within the same factory tenement, to buy provisions 
in large quantities. Each workman pays so much in pro- 
portion to the mouths he must feed. If there is anything 
left in the treasury at the end of the season, it is divided 
equally and the manager is rewarded by an additional 
commission. The factory pays all the wages for his artel 
to the manager and he dispenses them. The families of 
the workmen live in tenements provided by the company, 
where they pay as low as half a ruble a month rent." 

" And the wages ? " asked Phil. " What does the ordi- 
nary steel-worker earn during the six months ? " 

" About seventy of your American dollars. They are 
better paid than weavers. Does that seem a low wage to 
you ? " He smiled at my involuntary exclamation. " Out 
of this amount a temperate workman can save half to take 
back to the village for the summer months." 

" And there are steel-workers in Pittsburgh who earn 
three times seventy dollars in a month ! " 

" I should be willing to wager that not many of them 
save half their wages at that. Still, you cannot compare 
the wage of the Russian with that of the American. We 
have proven in our factories here that one Englishman 
can out-work six muzhik hands. And your quick-think- 
ing and working American — how many Englishmen 
would be needed to equal him ? " 

" Not less than ten," surmised Philip. 

" Not one less. I have been in your Pittsburgh. I 
know with what intelligence those mill-workers operate. 



Moscow and a Letter of Introduction 197 

Their efficient labour is worth forty times the labour of 
our half -trained factory hands and ten times that of the 
men I saw in the rolling-mills of Sheffield." 

The waiter removed our plates and brought us each a 
half of a tiny roast chicken, and luscious Kursk tomatoes 
dressed as a salad. No other vegetable was served 
throughout the luncheon. For dessert I had an ice; the 
men ordered a frozen fruit jelly peculiar to Moscow. 
When we had finished we went into the tea-room where 
the brokers who had been discussing stocks, industrials 
and consols over the lunch-table, continued to talk futures 
and margins over the samovar and cup of China tea. A 
grey-haired man in uniform came over to speak to our 
host, and was introduced as the chief of the law depart- 
ment of Moscow province, Procurator B. With a word 
of apology he began to converse in Russian concerning a 
matter of evident importance. When he had gone, Gos- 
podin Marilov explained. " Some of my workmen are 
Revolutionists — many of them are, I fear. Recently 
they were involved in an intrigue against the Government. 
There was a riot, and some Government property was de- 
stroyed. The provincial law office is making an effort to 
recover damages from the company, but we shall not pay. 
If the employers of Revolutionists were to hold themselves 
responsible for all the harm they do, we should be in what 
you call ' hot water ' all the time. They make enough 
trouble as it is. Only last week I discharged nearly fifty 
rollers because I caught them holding a secret meeting be- 
hind one of the mills at the noon hour. They were fortu- 
nate not to have had some employers, who would have 
turned them oyer to the police for a flogging and im- 
prisonment." 



198 Honeymooning in Russia 

As we left the restaurant and walked across the open 
square we heard feet tramping — feet of soldiers guard- 
ing a dejected band of prisoners. M. Marilov stopped a 
moment and looked closely at the convicts. An ejaculation 
escaped his lips. " So," he said, looking after the group, 
" one or two of them have gotten what they deserved. 
One of those prisoners was the foreman of our No. 5 mill, 
and I think the man beside him is also one of those I dis- 
missed. Evidently the Secret Service knew them better 
than I. Well, perhaps in Siberia it will not be so easy for 
them to get into mischief." 

" In Siberia! " I exclaimed, thinking he must be joking. 
" Would they send men to Siberia just for holding a polit- 
ical meeting? " 

" They are sent by the thousand for just that. And 
where is there a better place for them? The Revolution- 
ists are responsible for the rivers of blood deluging the 
country. They want ' reform,' but their propaganda has 
set the nation back fifteen years. We are worse off in 
many ways to-day than we were before Nicholas II came 
to the throne, and are the laughing-stock of the world." 

" Not the laughing-stock, but — " Philip flashed me a 
warning glance, and I did not finish my sentence. Just 
ahead of us some women were running alongside the pris- 
oners, with small children hanging to their worn skirts and 
others in their arms. They were calling to the men within 
the barricade of soldiers, and crying aloud. The convicts 
scarcely raised their eyes, but I saw one of them, he who 
had been foreman of No. 5, draw his hand across his eyes, 
and stumble as if his body and brain were sick. 

" Those women are the wives of the convicts. They 
follow along this way during the public degradation of 



Moscow and a Letter of Introduction 199 

those who have been sentenced for deportation. Some of 
the wives go into exile with their husbands. The Govern- 
ment permits it, for otherwise the country would be over- 
run with paupers without means of support." 

" And on the road to Siberia, who provides for them — 
the mothers and children? " 

" Oh, the Government lets them sleep in the prisons at 
the different * stations ' and they eat the prison fare." 

" But those are the vilest of underground affairs, are 
they not? How are the innocent families of decent work- 
men protected from such hideous surroundings? " 

" Protected? Oh, I don't suppose any effort is made 
to protect them. They have to endure it if they choose to 
go into exile with their husbands." 

" And if they don't choose, they would remain home 
to starve with their little ones? " Philip shook his head 
at me, but I was too indignant to care for his warning or 
M. Marilov's feelings, if he had any. 

" People outside of Russia," he explained, smiling at my 
resentment, " cannot understand the conditions here. You 
cannot judge our lower classes by your own. Here, 
muzhiks and most workmen are — cattle. They haven't 
the capacity to' govern themselves and they should be 
taught not to try." 

" And the ' intelligentzia ' — your students and profes- 
sional men and women? " 

" They are the most dangerous of all. I believe I 
would willingly let my son and daughter go to prison if I 
found them guilty of the sedition which is becoming the 
fashion among the young people of Russia. It is they 
in every case who have incited the assassinations which have 
occurred so frequently during the past five years." 



200 Honeymooning in Russia 

" And the men they murdered — were they exemplary, 
the governor of Moscow, for instance? " 

" The uncle of the Most High. No, the Grand Duke 
Serge did some things which were not right." 

" The soldiers shivered for want of the warm clothing 
which bulged his pockets." 

" So it was reported. We do not hold our Imperial 
Family to the same account as those not born in the 
purple." 

We had reached the Red Square, " red " because to the 
Muscovites it is beautiful, and, in Russian, red and beau- 
tiful are synonymous. Near the cathedral of the Blessed 
St. Basil we parted, M. Marilov affably expressing the 
hope that we should see each other again before we left. 
That evening we sent a bouquet to Madame, his wife, who 
returned a gracious note of acknowledgment. 

With few exceptions, the veneer of Russian courtesy 
glosses a primal cruelty and insensibility to others' suffer- 
ings, actually as savage as that which inspired the bar- 
barisms of the ancestral Scythian and Sarmatian. This 
truism has often been uttered, but it is none the less ap- 
palling. As recipients of the kindly hospitality of well- 
mannered Russians, it had been almost impossible for us 
to reconcile their whole-hearted generosity with this pes- 
simistic assertion as to the real core of their natures. 
Given the power to assert authority, the Slav is possessed 
with an inborn mania to swing the lash. If the blood 
starts on the back of the victim — it is God who has willed 
it. With them, the names God and Fate are interchange- 
able. " Unto each man happens what was decided at his 
birth." " The wolf seizes the destined sheep." " What is 
to be cannot be avoided." Upon the convenient head of 



Moscow and a Letter of Introduction 201 

Fate are heaped the results of sin. Personal, moral obli- 
gation is foreign to the Russian character. Pagans at 
heart, they are fatalists in every circumstance of life. If 
a Russian steals — Fate directed him to steal ; if he lies, 
the words were put into his mouth — he is but the instru- 
ment of Fate; if he is oppressed — why resist? — Fate 
guides the hand of the oppressor. If he is in want, why 
struggle to better himself? It is God's will. If a fellow- 
man is tortured, if he gasps and sickens in a cell under the 
ground — why attempt his release ? He is in the resistless 
toils of an irrevocable Power. If he is exiled to life-agony 
— he was foreordained to suffer, and who can gainsay God 
and Fate? If there are those who are compassionate and 
resentful at the thought of unspeakable wrongs, it is be- 
cause the poison of Fatalism has begun to work out of 
their blood. When Russia's veins flow free of the curse 
of her pagan ancestry, she may be counted a civilised 
nation. 

" And still," pursued Philip, as we came out of the 
church of St. Basil, " in what civilised nation will you 
meet a sweeter, simpler-minded, more generous people? 
People more unaffected or more gentle? I read a book 
once, ' Russia, the Puzzle.' I doubt if the enigma is ever 
solved." 

" I think, perhaps, it is the \ery primitiveness of their 
natures which makes them both unfeeling and lovable. 
For lovable they certainly are." 

The monument to the artistic tastes of John the Ter- 
rible reared itself in hideous arrogance behind us. Philip 
never tired searching its towers and cupolas for new forms 
and outrageous colours. " Oh, do look just once more, 
jena, at that sprouted onion behind the yellow pine-apple 



202 Honeymooning in Russia 

cheese. You see, just to the right of the tallest salt 
shaker? " 

" Salt shaker ! " I disputed. " I always supposed that 
was a vinegar cruet. At any rate, you won't deny that 
the red and white cupola is a Turk's turban? Napoleon 
called the edifice a mosque. Could anything be more un- 
complimentary to Turkey ? " 

" Or anything more libellous than to assert that Italians 
were responsible for it? Miss Meakin says two Russian 
architects perpetrated the monstrosity. I believe it. 
Italians planned the Kremlin. I don't think they were 
capable of foisting this architectural ogre upon innocent 
posterity." 

" It's a fitting sepulchre for St. John the Idiot." 

"An excellently designed tomb for feeble-minded 
saints, or lunatics of any description." 

We spent the rest of the afternoon in the Romanov 
House. Under its ornate roof Tsar Michael was born. 
Aside from this fact, it is interesting as a museum, for in 
it have been preserved toys, primers, furniture, garments, 
and household utensils of the seventeenth century, before 
Peter's westernising influences had been felt in Russia. 

When we left the Kremlin we had passed through the 
Redeemer Gate to the Place Rouge. This time Philip 
did not forget to remove his hat in deference to the old, 
dim painting of the Saviour which hangs high above it. 
It is the Holy of Holies to the Orthodox, and heads are 
bared and prayers are said before it all day long. One 
day we were about to enter the Kremlin from the Red 
Square. We passed the taper-seller to go through this 
Holy Gate, Happy being snugly tucked under my arm. 
But the candle vender hailed us with vigour. He ap- 



Moscow and a Letter of Introduction 203 

proached Phil threateningly, signalling with graphic effect 
that we were trespassing — but how? We stood dumbly 
regarding the guardian of the gate. Our apathy en- 
raged him all the more. Losing all patience, he sprang 
towards Philip, who dodged and prepared to defend him- 
self. It was, however, only a straw hat which the old man 
sought, tearing it angrily from Phil's head and throwing 
it to the pavement. Then, crossing himself, he pointed 
with dramatic emphasis to the picture above, with the rude 
lamp swinging before it. " Oh, I beg your pardon," said 
Philip politely, picking up the offending hat and hunting 
his pockets for a piece of silver. " I hope you'll believe 
the slight was not intended — we didn't know, you see." 
To prove his penitence, he laid a coin on the candle table, 
and we turned towards the gate. At this juncture, Happy 
came into the picture. The sight of her aroused the old 
man as does the toreador's cloak the bull. Shouting at us 
vehement Russian, he leaped across the gateway and 
barred it with loyal arms. Then to make his meaning 
quite clear, he seized Happy's collar and tried to drag her 
from me. I held on lustily. Not for all the zealots in 
Muscovy would I surrender my puppy. " Let go ! " I 
cried. " I don't want to go through your old gate. Come 
on, Philip. There are four other entrances to the Kremlin. 
I guess we don't have to patronise this one." And we had 
gone off, Phil exceedingly amused — I, very indignant. 

" Well, you can't blame the old codger, jena. The 
dog is evidently an unclean animal in the eyes of the Or- 
thodox. In other words, Hap is persona non grata on 
holy ground. We'll have to enter the Kremlin some other 
way when she is one of the party." 

The steps and doorway of the chapel of the Iberian 



204* Honeymooning in Russia 

Virgin were thronged, as we had seen them thronged every 
time we passed that way. Leaving or returning to Mos- 
cow, every Russian comes hither to render his homage to 
the miraculous ikon enthroned within an inner sanctuary. 

The modish, the sick, the sorrowful, kneel in common 
humility before the chapel door, or inside, if fortune fa- 
vours them, and the crowd is not too dense. 

But to-day the press was greater than ever. We halted 
our drosky to discern, if possible, the cause of the special 
demonstration. The isvostchik seized the moment to kneel 
on the crowded pavement. It was evidently a holy day. 

An officer shouldered a market-woman. 
Two little girls found a place beside a mendicant. Each 
petitioner prayed with fervour for wealth, success, healing, 
comfort. The Russian asks rather for temporal blessings 
than for the salvation of his soul. A blue coach drawn 
by six horses drew up to the curb. The worshippers 
arose and stood back as some monks came from the chapel 
carrying a painting, smothered in gold and flashing 
jewels. The door of the carriage was opened, the faded 
picture was placed on the seat, two monks got in, the 
door was closed by a bare-headed footman and the horses 
started through the arch of the Sunday gate. The 
Iberian Mother of God had been sent for by one who 
was sick and who would be made well. For the visit of 
the miracle ikon the family of the invalid would pay the 
equivalent of two dollars and a half, and make a gift also 
to the monks who are its guardians. For centuries this 
holy painting has been venerated, first in Georgia, the 
country of its nativity; then on Mount Athos in Mace- 
donia; and finally in Moscow, where it was brought at 
the invitation of the father of Peter the Great. 



® 



Chapter XIII 

THE CHATELAINE OF SHTJLOV 

i^MILING and lovely, Mademoiselle Marilov greeted us 
at the little station on her father's estate. " The sun 
did come out, did it not? I am so glad, for now you will 
enjoy all the more the drive to the Monastyr of St. 
Serge." We climbed into the carriage, and the grey 
horses started forward at a word from the big kutscher 
in the padded livery of the Marilovs. 

" Please tell us something about the monastery," said 
Phil, confessing ignorance. " I know it is the richest 
of the three lavras in Russia and the second holiest. 
Madame has imparted that much. But I don't believe 
she knows any more about it, do you, Joyce? " 

" Not a syllable. Moscow has been too engrossing 
for me to find time to read it up." Happy, bravely ar- 
rayed in a new Russia leather harness, had succeeded in 
scrambling into Mademoiselle Marilov's lap, where she 
dropped defiantly, eyeing me with some doubt as to the 
security of her position. I tried to apologise for her 
presumption, but Mademoiselle cuddled her close, and 
would not give her up. 

" What shall we do with her when we go into the mon- 
astery ? " I asked, and related our experience at the Re- 
deemer Gate. 

" Oh, we shall have no trouble there. I know the ab- 
bot and, if necessary, we will ask special permission to 

let Happy enter as a puppy pilgrim." As she laughed 

205 



206 Honeymooning in Russia 

at her own sally, her grey eyes glistened with mirth and 
her fair skin grew rosy as the pink dress she wore. Her 
hair lay against her temples in glossy brown waves. 
Her hands were smooth and fine, her figure supple as a 
Norway birch. From that moment she was to us the 
Pretty Lady. " You want to hear something about the 
Trinity-Sergius Monastery ? " she continued in her pleas- 
ant voice, the words ever so slightly accented. " It is 
the Russian Canterbury, you know, and was founded by 
Sergius in 1340. It has been besieged by Tatars and 
Poles. It has sheltered fleeing princes. One of its 
churches (there are at least a dozen) is the tomb of St. 
Sergius himself, and thousands come to his shrine each 
year, as they have been coming for hundreds of years 
past. There — if you lean this way you can see one of 
the towers on the great wall." 

We drove directly to the Trinity Church to see the 
shrine of St. Sergius, which is of pure silver. That of 
Alexander Nevsky weighs over a ton and a half, while 
this tomb of Sergius contains less than half a ton of the 
same metal. Nevertheless it was extremely beautiful, 
and its interest was enhanced by the display of relics 
and paintings of the saint. One of the pictures painted 
on wood has been carried numberless times into battle 
and is credited with miraculous victories. The sa- 
cristy's riches rival those of the Moscow Kremlin. Each 
monarch has bestowed some gift of surpassing splendour 
upon this fortress-shrine. Crucifixes, staffs, robes, al- 
tar-cloths, caskets are encrusted and embroidered with 
deep borders of gems. However, it is not these which 
the pilgrims press closest to see, but the simple monk's 
robe of the founder, and the wooden utensils from which 



The Chatelaine of Shulov 207 

he ate and drank. By the old belfry near the church 
where Sergius was visited of the Virgin, a pilgrim family 
were sitting on the terrace, munching black bread. 
" They have probably come miles to make their devo- 
tions," said Mademoiselle Liuba. She paused a moment 
and spoke to the father. He replied ingenuously and 
went back to his bottle of vodka. 

" They have come from a derevnya not far this side of 
Tver,'" Mademoiselle interpreted. " They have been 
walking for weeks, and have just arrived to-day. Poor 
things, I doubt if they have much to eat now that their 
long pilgrimage is ended." She opened her purse and 
turned back. We saw her put a piece of money into the 
astonished mother's hand, the entire family crowding 
about to see and touch the coin, and breaking into a tor- 
rent of words. But they did not address themselves to 
their benefactor. Their gratitude seemed to be engulfed 
in amazement. 

" I don't believe they thanked you," I said indignantly. 

" Thanked me? No, I don't believe they did. But 
their poor bodies will thank me. Did you see that little 
starved baby? To-night it can have a bowl of buck- 
wheat groats." 

"And the father, another bottle of vodka?" queried 
pessimistic Phil. 

" Oh, the father would have the vodka anyway, even 
if there was no food for any of them." 

" Do they allow the pilgrims to drink their brandy 
within the walls of the monastery ? " I glanced back, as- 
tonished at the rashness of the father, still tippling. 
Mademoiselle looked half -amused. 

" I doubt if the monks could be shocked by intemper- 



208 Honeymooning in Russia 

ance. Someone has said that the five hundred monas- 
teries of Russia are ' but houses of refuge for the indo- 
lent ' ; he could have added, c and for the drunken.' " 

We turned the corner of the cloister where a monk in 
his black gown was playing with Happy, who had been 
left in his care while we entered the churches. Another 
brother stood by a pillar watching the puppy antics. 
Several more were drinking tea under an arbour. Besides 
the samovar and the tea-cups, there were tall bottles 
standing on the table. From one of them bearing the 
imperial eagle on the label, a monk poured out a goblet- 
ful of white liquid. " Oh," I said, " it was only water 
after all." Mademoiselle and Phil chuckled at my in- 
nocence. 

" Yes, Russian s water of life ' — brandy, probably 
eighty per cent, pure alcohol — and they drink it by the 
gobletf ul ! " supplemented my sophisticated spouse. 

A little river straying through the garden without 
the lavra walls invited us to sit awhile by its banks. 
" Have you a pocket in that dress ? " I asked the Pretty 
Lady. We sat under a lime-tree while Phil and Happy 
roamed upstream. I opened my handbag and drew 
out the thick envelope which I had brought all the way 
from Petersburgh, by way of the Volga, Nizhni Novgo- 
rod, and Moscow. " Will you take it now? I cannot 
rest until I have seen it safely in your hands." 

" You were good to bring it. The responsibility was 
not inconsiderable." 

" We understood that we were the bearers of a mes- 
sage which entailed some risk; still, we were very willing 
to be of service to Marie — and the cause." Mademoi- 
selle ran a hatpin along the crease of the envelope and 



The Chatelaine of Shulov 209 

tore it open. As she turned its contents into her lap, 
I started with amazement. "Money?" I exclaimed. 
" Not all that money ! We haven't been carrying an en- 
velope full of fifty- and hundred-ruble notes all this 
time!" 

Mademoiselle held the bills between her fingers and 
counted : " One hundred, two hundred, two hundred and 
fifty, three hundred and fifty, four, six, ten, twelve hun- 
dred and fifty, thirteen hundred, fifteen, sixteen — there 
are two thousand rubles here — two thousand rubles to 
buy books and food and warm clothes for our comrades in 
exile. Is she not generous, our little Marie? This is 
part of her inheritance from her mother. I believe she 
would give it all if her father need not know." 

" But why did she send it this way ? There would 
surely have been less danger of its being stolen if she 
had mailed a cheque." 

" I am afraid you do not know our Government postal 
system, Mrs. Houghton. My mail is constantly opened. 
If I were mailed a cheque for any amount the sender 
could never be sure that I would receive it. If it did not 
lead to my arrest on suspicion of receiving funds to fur- 
ther the work of our party, I should be fortunate. No, 
such gifts and communications as this must be sent from 
hand to hand. Marie probably did not tell you just 
what she was asking you to bring me, because she feared 
you would hesitate to carry so large an amount if you 
knew what the envelope held. But you have done us a 
service, a great, great service," she breathed, laying her 
hand upon mine. " Many of our comrades in exile are 
prisoners in settlements where their only companions 
are ignorant, diseased, suspicious ostiaks. The Govern- 



210 Honeymooning in Russia 

ment allows them three rubles a month for food. There 
are few ways of earning money in those remote villages. 
They would starve, they often do starve, without help 
from our organisation. Many of the exiles are teachers, 
young doctors, writers. Their one plea is for books — 
books to read that they may forget the future as well as 
the present. The money you have brought will feed the 
body and soul of many, many of my comrades." 

" How will you send it to them? How do you dare 
send it to them? " 

" Oh, the Government does not prohibit exiles from 
receiving assistance. Only it must be done secretly at 
this end, unless we wish to come under the suspicion of 
the Political Police who are always hoping to bring still 
more of us into their toils. But we have ways to reach 
the unfortunates without great danger to ourselves. It 
would weary you to mention them all." 

A beggar coming from behind a tree startled us both. 
Mademoiselle Marilov clutched the envelope tighter, and 
I looked about for Phil. To my relief he was turning 
back. I called to him, and he waved his hat. The beg- 
gar, seeing the approach of a muscular figure, slunk 
away. 

" Do you suppose he would have robbed us ? He had 
the eye of a thief." 

" Or a spy," remarked Mademoiselle, rising. When 
Philip had joined us we went back to the road where the 
carriage was waiting. There, in conversation with the 
coachman, was our beggar again. He fell at Phil's feet, 
and begged " in Christi radi." Phil's hand went to his 
pocket. " Give him nothing," said Mademoiselle quickly. 



The Chatelaine of Shulov 211 

Philip looked surprised, but obeyed. In a few moments 
we had left the creature behind us. 

As Mademoiselle seemed inclined to ignore the incident, 
we did not broach the subject during the long drive to the 
estate. " I love to be in the country," she said, as we 
passed fields of buckwheat and rye and blue-flowered flax. 
In other fields, pink and white yarrow, and crimson 
crane's bill peeped between the rustic fences. We passed 
peasants driving oxen, and others returning on foot from 
their harvesting. One young woman rode a shaggy small 
horse. Over her shoulder she carried a rake. Her bare 
legs showed beneath a short cotton skirt. " I love the 
country," repeated our hostess, " but it is not the fash- 
ion. Many of my friends would wish never to have it 
known that they lived at all upon their country places. 
It is a Russian peculiarity, and a foolish one. We have 
nearly all come up from the peasantry. One need not be 
ashamed of it. That is the house through those trees, 
with the izbas of the tenantry at the foot of the knoll." 

We saw a large low house extending over a shady 
plateau. Several outbuildings drew back among the trees 
as if in deference to the dignity of the main dwelling. A 
muzhik opened the gate, making a low obeisance to the 
daughter of his landlord. At the door, the servants 
gathered about to assist us alight, to take our hand 
baggage, and to show us through the long hallway to 
our bed-chamber. When dinner had been served in the 
dining-hall adjoining the great drawing-room, we saun- 
tered about the farm in the lingering twilight. In the 
smoke-house there were hams of pig and mutton, whole 
geese, and bacon, which during the previous winter had 



212 Honeymooning in Russia 

been smoked with the fumes of dried tree and herb leaves 
until thej had attained the pungent tastiness dear to the 
Russian palate. The kvas brewer of the estate had been 
making the favourite beverage and as we stopped to look 
into the miniature brewery, Mademoiselle detailed the 
process. Barley-meal, honey, and salt are covered over 
with boiling water and steeped for half a day. When it 
has been strained and set to ferment for several days, it 
is strained again and then bottled. Kvas is an important 
part of the Russian household's menu, as it is used not 
only as a drink but as an ingredient in various dishes. 
Casks of fermented cabbage and beet-root, and barrels 
of vegetable oils, used on fast days instead of lard and 
butter, game cheeses, more casks of salted beef and fish 
quite filled another out-house. At the rear of the house 
there were the several servants' kitchens made necessary 
by the distinctions of caste, almost as pronounced here as 
among the Hindus. One of the agents of the estate was 
distributing loaves of bread to the farm-hands who lived 
in the cottages under the hill. The dairyman, the gar- 
dener, the stove-heater, the brewer, the confectioner, the 
coachman, the grooms had each sent a representative to 
receive his family's dole of bread, baked in the brick ovens 
of the master's house. 

Towering above the other buildings was the wind-mill 
furnishing motive power for the flour-mill, which ground 
all the grain for the estate. Near the peasant settle- 
ment of weather-grey huts was the vodka brewery, sur- 
rounded by mounds of potatoes, out of which the wretched 
stuff known as potato brandy is made. The Govern- 
ment having a monopoly of the vodka trade, the product 
of even these private distilleries is sold to a representa- 



The Chatelaine of Shulov 213 

tlve of the State. The blacksmith shop was closed. I 
should like to have looked into a Russian blacksmith shop. 
" It would amuse you to see the currency sometimes ten- 
dered in return for the smithy's services," said Mademoi- 
selle. " A loaf of bread or a measure of buckwheat is 
offered for the forging of a shoe or the mending a cart- 
wheel." 

We went back by the green-houses, the poultry-yard 
and the cobbler's shop to the chateau. Until the sun 
went down about ten o'clock, we sat on the porch. A 
late moon hung pale and lustreless above the fields. In 
the village street below us the peasants were singing 
around a bonfire, and we could hear the strumming of a 
balalaika. 

A faint scratching awakened us. Happy sat up and 
barked. The scratching continued. When I went to the 
door, a maid in a pink dress presented a jug of steam- 
ing water. When we were partly dressed there came 
more scratching. Again I responded. This time it was 
a servant in a red dress who had been sent by her mistress 
with a bunch of flowers. The tray of tea and bread was 
brought by still another woman-servant who said good- 
morning and kissed our hands and the hem of my dress. 

Mademoiselle Liuba was superintending the fruit-dry- 
ing when we came upon her in the yard, her face shaded 
by a rough farm hat. She stood in the centre of a circle 
of girls, whose fingers were busy stemming berries which 
were heaped in hand-woven baskets beside the benches. 

" Come sit in the midst of rural Russia," invited the 
daughter of the house. " We are preparing fruit for 
the winter. Perhaps you would like to watch us." She 
spoke to one of the helpers, who rose to fetch another 



214 Honeymooning in Russia 

bench. Returning with it, her foot caught in a basket 
of currants and sent the freshly picked fruit rolling across 
the brick square. For a moment, she was the picture of 
rustic despair. Then she threw herself at the feet of 
her mistress, and bursting into sobs, besought forgive- 
ness. Again and again she seized her hands to kiss them, 
while her companions demonstrated their sympathy by 
chattering all at once, and shaking their heads. With 
utmost patience, Mademoiselle accepted the show of re- 
morse, speaking kindly to the prostrate figure and bid- 
ding her get up and prove her repentance by collecting 
the scattered fruit and washing it anew. 

But it was some time before the unhappy servant could 
sufficiently control herself to resume her work, and her 
companions continued to offer their condolence with such 
earnestness that the upsetting of a basket of currants 
threatened to demoralise labour for the rest of the morn- 
ing. 

Mademoiselle Liuba delegated a housekeeper to super- 
vise the talkative group, and came to walk with us in the 
pine-wood. 

" I want to tell you," she said, " that the beggar we 
saw near the lavra is undoubtedly an agent of the Secret 
Service. I thought so yesterday. I am almost sure of 
it to-day, for I found him this morning asking for bread 
at the door of the summer kitchen. Though he is well 
disguised, I think I have seen him before. Did you notice 
his peculiar eyes? I feel that it is right to warn you 
that he may have been sent to watch you. I should have 
been more discreet than to ask you to come here to see 
me. Your visitors at the hotel were probably known to 
the police. As I have told you, I am under constant 



The Chatelaine of Shulov 215 

suspicion. To visit me here alone was not wise. I 
should not have asked you to come." Her distress was 
so real that our chief desire was to comfort her. 

" It was not you who suggested our coming, but your 
mother, you may remember. If the police know any- 
thing at all of our movements, they must be aware that 
we have lunched in public with your father." 

" Certainly my father is known to be in entire sym- 
pathy with the Government. Nevertheless, I am equally 
as well known to the Third Section as one whose interest 
in the reform movement has involved me — in an arrest." 

" In an arrest? Does your father know? " I recalled 
his unfatherly words. 

" No, fortunately. I believe he would cease to call me 
daughter if he did. Of course I am not dependent for 
support. I have my profession." 

" Marie said you had been of great assistance to your 
father in structural designing." 

" 1 finished a piece of work last month. I had several 
technical students under me who were also women. 
Some contractors always call for women because they 
are invariably sober and alert." She took off her broad- 
brimmed hat. As she raised her hand to brush back a 
wave of chestnut hair, I tried to imagine a hand so fine 
and white holding a draughting tool or directing the 
placement of bolts and beams. 

" Where were you in prison ? " asked Phil. 

" In Finland. It was not for long. I was out in a 
week." As we did not wish to increase her anxiety for 
us, we said nothing of our own experience. 

Jerry had warned us that our arrest in Petersburgh 
would undoubtedly lead to a more or less strict super- 



216 Honeymooning in Russia 

vision of our movements elsewhere. In Russia, the awak- 
ened eye of suspicion never closes. But, though Made- 
moiselle Liuba's acquaintance with police tactics consti- 
tuted her a judge whose opinion was not to be lightly 
disregarded, nevertheless I was more inclined to the be- 
lief that the beggar who had startled us in the garden 
was actuated by pure thievery, rather than by a desire 
to spy upon Phil and me. He had stood behind the tree 
while we counted the ruble notes. If Phil had not ap- 
peared, I was confident he would have attempted robbery. 

" I am doubly sorry if your coming here on a mis- 
sion from my comrade has brought you under suspicion," 
continued our hostess. She began to tear the leaves 
from a twig she had broken, and I thought she flushed 
ever so slightly. " I had thought perhaps you might — 
but there is no use to speak of it now. I could not ask 
it. It would but add to the risk you may already be 
running by coming here to Shulov." Her fingers at the 
collar of her blouse fumbled a locket. She stood look- 
ing into the wood, her sweet eyes lifted as if to meet an 
invisible face. 

" Tell us," I said quietly. " Is there anything we can 
do for you, Mademoiselle Marilov? If there is, we want 
to do it, don't we, Philip? " 

" Even if spying beggars track our every step." 

Mademoiselle smiled. 

" I believe you would. You are young and in love with 
— everything. I think you believe, too, in our movement 
to save Russia, and would help us if you could. But this 
I thought of asking — I lay thinking of it in the night — 
was something just for me — and one other. It would 
be selfish, too selfish to ask it. It might lead you into 



The Chatelaine of Shulov 217 

unpleasant complications. If the police already suspect 
that you are in touch with Revolutionaries, this visit I 
was going to ask you to pay would increase the risk of 
your being sent out of the country with twenty-four 
hours' notice. It is impossible. Come, let us go back. 
Luncheon will soon be ready." She turned to go, but 
I put out my hand, as Phil stopped his whittling and 
looked up. 

" This visit — it means much to you. Forgive me if 
I go too far. But I believe the one you wish us to see 
is the one — is perhaps someone who would give his lif e 
to be near you this moment." Her lips trembled and 
she turned her head. " Perhaps, of course we don't 
know the least thing about it, but perhaps this someone 
has been sent away and perhaps when we leave Moscow 
we could go to see him and send you word of him. Is 
that what you lay thinking of in the night? " 

She laid her hands on my shoulders. "It is a sweet 
inquisition," she said. " I want to tell you all about it. 
It would lighten my heart just to utter the words. But 
if my yearning to hear of — someone should involve you 
and your dearest, how could I bear it? " 

"Let us sit here and talk it over. Philip, you may 
go for a walk with Happy." 

" No, no, you shall not send him off. I should like 
his counsel." 

" 1 am honoured by your request," declared Philip. 
He too had come under the spell of this fair Revolution- 
ary. Her cheeks grew pinker as she fixed her eyes on 
the toe of her white shoe, and began: 

" When you said last night that you were leaving soon 
for Russia Minor, one thought possessed my mind — and 



218 Honeymooning in Russia 

my heart, for in the south a comrade of mine is exiled, not 
so very many miles from Poltava. He teaches a village 
school and is free to come and go within the limits of 
that village. If he should put his foot over the line, he 
would be sent in a moment to Siberia. He is innocent — 
he has done nothing, absolutely nothing." She raised 
her head bravely and looked from Phil to me. " In St. 
Petersburgh at the University, he was the leader of the 
students who resisted the attempts of the Government to 
interfere with the conduct of their own affairs. He came 
then under the displeasure of the Political Police. He 
was watched. His rooms were frequently searched for 
incriminating literature. One day, the gendarmes found 
something inside a couch pillow. It was an uncensored 
copy of ' The French Revolution.' When he returned 
from a lecture, they showed him a warrant for his arrest. 
He said, { Very well, I will go. But let me change my 
shoes and gather some linen together.' The gendarmes 
looked into his bed-chamber again. They saw no door 
leading from it into the hall. So they let him go in alone, 
while they waited, the three of them, in his sitting-room. 
Several minutes passed. At first they had heard him 
moving about. But suddenly they realised that he had 
been gone for more minutes than were necessary just to 
put on other shoes and pack a bag with fresh garments. 
When they pulled open the door, the room was empty. 
It was some time before they discovered the crack in the 
wall-paper of the closet, where he had had a door cut in 
anticipation of just such an exigency. By the time the 
three dullards had finished searching the house, my — 
comrade was behind the counter in a butter store, ready 
to serve customers. When he first came under the notice 



The Chatelaine of Shulov 219 

of the police he had arranged with the proprietor that if 
necessary he might take refuge in the disguise of a clerk's 
blouse. For some months, he had carried constantly a 
forged passport. They are to be purchased of Jewish 
counterfeiters on the frontier. He shaved his moustache 
and dyed his hair to suit the details of the passport de- 
scription. In this guise he worked for some weeks in the 
dairyman's store until he could get away to Moscow. It 
was not long before he became here, as in Petersburgh, the 
centre of a group of students who looked to him as their 
captain and adviser. At the meetings of our organisa- 
tion, held at the rear of a furniture shop where we en- 
tered presumably as customers, I learned to know him. 
When he spoke to us of Russia's future, we were thrilled 
as with the words of a prophet. There was no mind so 
keen as his in planning the relief of unfortunates; no 
heart so quick to give practical sympathy; no one more 
alert to avoid suspicion. As a student he had a brilliant 
record in his chosen study of Oriental languages ; 
already he had made some notable translations from the 
Persian. His father was a priest, and since he, the son, 
had refused to enter the church and pursue its hypocrisies, 
he had been disowned by his people. You may know that 
the white priests are like the tribe of Levi. Son suc- 
ceeds father — daughters marry the sons of other priests. 
" For a year he had been in Moscow. Many times we 
had seen each other. That love grew up between us, but 
made our position the more unhappy, for here, marriage 
was an impossibility. He could follow no lucrative oc- 
cupation openly without endangering his freedom. Be- 
ing a priest's son, he was of course poor. But I — I 
was not poor. I met him one night on the terrace of the 



220 Honeymooning in Russia 

Kremlin to beg that he would take the money I brought 
and try to get across the German border where I could 
join him and we might be married. He is proud. At 
first he would not take my rubles. But at last he yielded, 
and we lingered a long time making our plans. The 
garden of the Kremlin was our Gethsemane. When we 
said good-night, it was for the last time. He was taken 
the next day." 

The low voice faltered. I sat silent while she strug- 
gled with the tears. Phil got to his feet and began to 
pace back and forth with his head down and his hands 
clenched behind him. When she had mastered her quiv- 
ering lips she went on : " He has been gone eleven 
months. I have had two letters. The last came nine 
weeks ago. He was ill, too ill to work as he must do in 
the summer in order to eke out his teacher's salary of the 
winter. But he implores me not to write. His record 
is already shadowed by his escape in Petersburgh. His 
correspondence is closely watched, — so closely that those 
known to be his intimates must fall under the shadow 
in which he lives. For my mother's sake I do not wish 
to risk exile. The disgrace would kill her. There is 
another reason, too. While I am free, there is always the 
thought — but I will not speak of that. It is but a hope- 
less dream of mine. ... A woman coming from his 
village brought me the last letter in a bundle of em- 
broideries. She buys from the peasants and sells to shops 
in Moscow. It is there — " She swept the wood with a 
comprehensive glance, leaning forward a little to see be- 
yond a fallen stump. " That — Roman lives, at this 
woman's house. If it had not been for mother I should 




Liuba, in Peasant Dress 



The Chatelaine of Shulov 221 

have gone to him when I heard he was ill. Many times 
I have dreamed of his face if I should open the door of 
his room." 

Philip stood kicking at the pine needles. His jaw was 
tense and I could see the muscles working in his cheek. 
He turned suddenly to Mademoiselle Marilov. " Tell us," 
he said almost harshly, " tell us what message we shall 
take to the teacher in the village of — " 

" Of Arminsk," she breathed and glanced again quickly 
about the wood. " So you will go ! " she cried, seizing 
Phil's hand and mine, as she rose. " Ah, you do not know 
what it will mean to me — and to him ! There are things 
I have wanted to send him — some of the fruit-wine I 
have been bottling, and books that I have been buying for 
him, little by little. And I can send him the letters 
which every, every day I have written since he was 
sent away. Now he will know that I have not forgotten. 
Ah, how that has hurt — the thought that he might be- 
lieve — I did not — remember ! " With swimming eyes 
she took my face between her palms and kissed me. My 
cheeks, too, were wet. She drew back. " I have made 
you cry t Oh, I am selfish — selfish. Forgive me. I 
should not have told you. You have come here as my 
guests and I have made you sad ! " She held out her 
hands to Philip. " Will you forgive me, Mr. Houghton 
— my own memories have absorbed me. I had no right 
to burden you. Neither have I a right to let you risk 
annoyance and — and serious inconvenience for my sake. 
Please tell me that you will forget this hour — forget 
that I ever alluded to — Roman and to the possibility 
of your helping us. It was an imposition. I — " She 



222 Honeymooning in Russia 

had not withdrawn her hands. Phil took them more 
firmly in his grasp and looked down at her with resolution 
written in the stern lines of his face. 

" Mademoiselle Marilov," he said, and he was very 
dear to me at that moment, " nothing hard has ever come 
into my life, nor into Joyce's, my wife's. Happiness, 
ease, love have been our portion. We have not counted 
much in the scheme of things. No fellow-creature has 
ever needed us — as you need us now. I think perhaps 
it is about time that we did something for somebody be- 
sides ourselves. Someone who is brave and who has 
proved himself a battler for the right is ill. You do not 
know how ill. What he has done has counted in his 
world. He has not been an idler. He is worth half-a- 
dozen useless fellows like myself. You have told us where 
he is. We are going to find him — Joyce and I. Even 
if you forbid us, we are going. Since we are, you may 
as well let us take what you have to send." I opened 
my lips to speak, but Mademoiselle Liuba shook her head. 

" No, my dear friends. You must not dream of it. I 
do not know what I have been thinking of. Without 
doubt you would be detained — you might even be im- 
prisoned a few days, for consorting with an exiled Revo- 
lutionist, who, in the eyes of the Government, is more 
than that — a man who was once a fugitive from justice." 

" But we need not go to the village ostensibly to see 
him. We can find a pretext. You spoke of women 
who make embroideries. Is it impossible that we should 
be interested to study peasant industries, and go to 
Arminsk to buy examples of the work? " Phil nodded his 
approbation. For a moment, hope glistened in the girl's 
eyes, only to be obscured. 



The Chatelaine of Shulov 223 

" It is true, you might see Roman at the house of the 
woman with whom he lives — Kirsanov is her name. She 
would take you among the women who embroider. The 
motive of your visit might be hidden. But if you went, 
there was something more momentous I was going to ask 
of you. And if you had acceded to that, it is still more 
to be feared that you would have been held by the police 
or ordered out of the country immediately. In my im- 
petuosity, in my great desire, encouraged by your sym- 
pathy, I had almost lost sight of the real danger into 
which such an errand would precipitate you. I should 
have kept my resolve and said nothing. Once more I ask 
you — forgive my selfishness." 

" And you really think our sympathies are so lightly 
engaged that the possibility of a few hours in gaol, or 
ejection, can turn us from that village? Perhaps the 
one you love is not only ill but in need of ordinary com- 
forts. Think what a portion of the money we brought 
from Petersburgh might mean to him, sick and exiled I " 
I was thoroughly enlisted by the romance of it all and did 
not intend to be denied. 

Phil stood tearing bits of bark from the tree at my 
back. 

" Did you ever think," he said slowly, " that it might 
be possible even yet to realise the plans you made that 
night on the bank of the Moskva? " 

"Ah, what made you think of that?" cried the sweet- 
heart of Roman. " It is the thought which never leaves 
my brain. In the daytime I plan, at night I dream it. 
What made you think of that? " 

" Because — perhaps we can help you when we go to 
that village — not so very far from Poltava." 



224* Honeymooning in Russia 

In a moment I saw what he meant. " Help Roman 
to leave Arminsk for a town over the border where they 
can meet and be married. That is what you are thinking 
of, Philip. Ah, now you cannot deny that there is reason 
enough for us to go to Arminsk, Mademoiselle Liuba. 
Your lover is there sickening for his liberty, and you. 
Perhaps he will die. If we can save him for you, do you 
suppose we are not going to make the effort? " The 
slim pretty shape hid its face against the rough coat of a 
fatherly pine, quivering with silent sobs. The strain, 
the conflict of emotions had shattered her control. 

" Oh, don't let her cry," murmured Phil, distressed. 

" Don't cry," I said, putting my arm about her. 
" You will have much to do before we leave. This after- 
noon we must begin to pack the boxes of wine and books. 
And there are all those letters to be gathered into a bun- 
dle, and to-day's letter to write." 

At last she grew quiet, and none too soon, for her eyes 
were scarcely dry before a maid came running and call- 
ing eagerly to her mistress. She paled, then flushed, 
then turned to us, relieved, as the girl told her story. 
"What is it? " I asked, fearing — I scarcely knew what. 

" Good news," she answered, smiling. " My fears about 
the beggar were groundless. He has just been taken 
in the muzhik settlement for thievery. If he were really 
a spy, I think he would not have carried his imper- 
sonation quite so far as to rob our poor tenants." She 
turned again to the servant and questioned her rap- 
idly. " I am so, so glad," she said. " The District 
Police know him. He has been arrested before for rob- 
bing the pilgrims who come to the monastery. If he is 
not a spy, if you have not been under surveillance in com- 



The Chatelaine of Shulov 225 

ing here, the risk in going to Arminsk would of course be 
lessened." 

" Then it is settled," I exclaimed, " and you are hot 
going to worry any more. We shall have a happy after- 
noon getting ready the precious boxes." 

" There are no words to thank you," she said as we 
embraced and cried a little on each other's shoulder, wom- 
an-fashion. " To think that yesterday we were almost 
strangers! You won't go to-night. There is no rea- 
son to hurry into Moscow. It will be such a pleasure to 
have you awhile longer, and — " 

" And besides," interrupted our wise Philip, " one can- 
not write in a few moments all that, under such circum- 
stances, it is necessary to write." 

" Nor have I said all that I must say if you are really 
going," added the daughter of the Marilovs. 

Another servant came to say that luncheon had long 
been ready. 

" Luncheon ? " I queried. " I had forgotten so pro- 
saic an institution existed." 

" Would you not like to have it here? " She gave an 
order and the girl ran off to the chateau. In a few 
minutes, willing hands had laid the cloth on the pine 
needles in the pungent wood. 

The letter which Mademoiselle Liuba drew from her 
dress and read to us fixed our determination to hasten 
on at once to the south. " I sometimes feel," ran the 
words of the exile, Petrovsky, " that, as my spirit and 
heart are broken, so is my body breaking also. I am 
too ill now to labour in the fields. In the evening, I sit 
watching the harvesters come back to the selo. 
Their strength makes me weak. . . . Nevertheless, 



226 Honeymooning in Russia 

I am still strong enough to resist impious thoughts which 
force themselves upon me. Each night I pray for cour- 
age that the succeeding day may not prove me less 
strong. . . . Ah, Liubenka, if I could see you be- 
fore I must go ! " No further message had come in the 
intervening two months. Apprehension haunted us as 
we made preparations and laid plans for the relief and 
final release of the exile. What if it was too late when 
we reached the house of the woman called Kirsanov! 

" We need not stay a day in Moscow," I said, infused 
with the spirit of our crusade and forgetting that I had 
not explored half the odd corners and old marts which 
I had anticipated seeing upon our return from Shulov. 

" We leave here to-morrow. We can pack and be on 
the train by evening. That should bring us to Poltava 
and Arminsk Monday or Tuesday." Phil had a time- 
table before him. " Monday or Tuesday," he repeated, 
looking up. " We'll get a letter back to you at the 
earliest moment. By this time next week. ..." 

" I cannot believe it. The year has been so long 
and now two have come all the way from Amer- 
ica to help accomplish the thing I have dreamed of ! " 
She leaned her bare elbows on the porch railing, her 
fingers lacing and interlacing as she gazed into the dusk. 
Happy, sensing the moment's emotion, jumped from 
Phil's lap, and stood with two paws on her friend's knee 
staring into her eyes. " Little creature," she murmured, 
stroking the small head, " my Roman's hand will touch 
you, too ! " 



CgJ Cf3 Cg3 

Chapter XIV 

FOR THE GOOD OF THE EMPIRE 

IN the night, we passed through Tula, famed abroad 
rather for its proximity to the estate of Tolstoi, the re- 
formed and the reformer, than for its important manu- 
factories of small-arms, snuff-boxes, and samovars. 
Early morning brought us a sight of Orel, the grain 
market; of the Black-Earth country; of apple trees; of 
level miles of corn and wheat; of sloping thatched roofs, 
and poverty-sad muzhiks. In this part of Russia the 
nightingales sing. Kursk, perched above the river Tus- 
kora, looked down on our slow-moving train. We had 
chosen not to leave Moscow by the Petersburgh-Odessa 
express, because of the inconvenient hour of its arrival in 
Kharkov. There we spent the night, proceeding to Pol- 
tava next day. 

Wearied by the journey of many stops and long de- 
lays, we were glad to seek our comfortable beds at the 
Grand Hotel de l'Europe. In the morning, Phil was suf- 
ficiently energetic to get up in time to see the buildings of 
the University of Kharkov and to walk about the com- 
mercial metropolis of Little Russia. 

Low scrubby trees lined the railway track. " They 
must be oaks," ventured Phil, when we had adjusted our 
luggage overhead and found seats in a compartment for 
the eighty or ninety miles to Poltava. 

" They can't be," I disagreed. " They are not in the 

least like the oaks we know." 

227 



228 Honeymooning in Russia 

" But the leaf looks the same, and I believe they are 
oaks — unimposing Russian oaks." Opposite us sat a 
young woman reading a book. She caught something 
of our mild discussion and glanced up interestedly. 

" Do you speak English ? " I asked on the impulse. 

" I understand a little," she replied pleasantly, " but 
I cannot speak much." 

" You know French, then? " 

" Yes, but more German." As that also described 
Phil's linguistic attainments, he referred to her, in the 
latter tongue, the question of the trees. As usual, he was 
right. They were oaks." 

" Do you live in Poltava? " we asked. 

" I live in Poltava, but I am studying medicine at 
Kharkov." 

"Ah, at the University." 

"Yes. You have been long in Kharkov?" 

" Only over night. We are going to Poltava and then 
into the country." 

" You would have found Poltava more entertaining in 
June, when the two-hundredth anniversary of Peter the 
Great's victory over Charles XII of Sweden was cele- 
brated." 

" We read of it in London. The Tsar was here? " 

" The Tsar, and crowds of soldiers and attendants." 

" You saw him of course? " 

"I? No — I did not see him. I had the misfortune 
to be in prison." 

Phil looked embarrassed. " I beg pardon, I am sure. 
I did not mean to be curious." 

" It is nothing. Many of us were in prison, because 



For the Good of the Empire 229 

of the presence of the Most High in Poltava. Others 
were ordered to leave the city until the celebration was 
over." 

" Would you mind describing your experience ? " We 
were alone in the compartment and the sliding door was 
shut. 

" Oh, no, if it would interest you." She smiled and 
laid down her book. 

" It would interest us intensely." 

" I must go back a little for you to understand all." 

" We should like to hear everything." 

" Well, then — I am, as I have said, a student of medi- 
cine at Kharkov. I have a sister who studies the violin 
at Moscow Conservatory. We are Jews. My father 
has a store in Poltava. He had a friend who was a 
doctor. He is now dead, happily for him. Since we first 
went to school, we had for a playmate the son of the doc- 
tor. Very young, he began to speak pieces in school, al- 
ways with more fire than any of the other boys. As a 
youth, he surprised us by his eloquence. Everyone said: 
' He will be a great lawyer. You will see ! ' When he 
went away to Moscow University we heard there was no 
one there to equal him in oratory, and few who could 
write so well, either. You know, perhaps, that our Gov- 
ernment forbids meetings — gatherings for discussion of 
any kind. It is an offence to make a speech to a street 
crowd. But this friend of ours — he was only nineteen 
— he was foolhardy. One night he addressed a great 
crowd of the Moscow strikers. He was, of course, ar- 
rested. When they searched him, a letter was found 
from my sister. Before the word of his arrest reached 



230 Honeymooning in Russia 

Poltava, the gendarmes came to make a domiciliary 
search — to hunt through drawers and closets and under 
carpets in our house." 

"For what?" 

" For something which should give them an excuse to 
arrest my sister and me, because we were friends of the 
young orator in Moscow." 

" Did they find anything? " 

" No, there was nothing to find. We do not love the 
Government, but we have never opposed it in words or in 
writing. The police came often after that. They would 
knock on the door, usually about two o'clock in the morn- 
ing. My old father would go down with a lamp. Per- 
haps fifteen policemen would come in and tramp through 
the house." 

"Fifteen?" 

" Sometimes more, sometimes less. Well, that is noth- 
ing. Everyone is used to that. . . . They brought 
our friend back to Poltava gaol where he was kept many 
weeks waiting for a trial. There is a rule that no one 
may visit a prisoner except his own family. The boy's 
father was dead. His mother was — he would not see 
his mother." 

" Would not see his mother? " 

"I — cannot explain. Her son loathed her. She was 
worse than dead." 

" Oh ! " 

" As he would not let her come to see him, there was 
no one to go. My sister and he, I suppose they had 
always cared for each other. But they were both so 
young. They had not thought yet to marry. When 
she found her school-friend without anvone to go to see 



For the Good of the Empire 231 

him, she did something perhaps you couldn't understand. 
She is a girl, gifted and sweet ... a pure, good 
girl. No one could say otherwise. But she went to the 
prison and she put herself on record as the boy's 6 civil 
wife ' — his mistress. That was so she could see him 
and take him a little comfort. Russian women are like 
that. They care less for what people say than to be 
loyal to the man they love. Ivan would not have mar- 
ried her if he could, for he guessed all along what the end 
was to be for him. A Russian trial — what a farce ! In 
two months he was sentenced to Siberia. We gave him 
all the money we could, my father, too. One day I was 
down town shopping, when he went by with his guards, 
' Good-bye, Ivan,' I said from the sidewalk. He tried to 
raise his hand to his cap, but the chain was too heavy. 
He just said, * Good-bye, Ela,' and smiled with such a 
brave look in his eyes." 

" And your sister? " 

" Oh, she didn't know when he was to be taken. I had 
to tell her when I got home. Well, we didn't hear from 
him for a long time. He was on his way to Siberia. 
One day a letter came to me at the University. I sup- 
pose he thought it was safer to send it to me there be- 
cause — " A guard slid back the door and looked in 
inquisitively. 

" And how large is Poltava? " asked Philip. 

And the young Jewess answered ingenuously, " There 
are about seventy thousand people, I think." The door 
was slammed to. 

" Go on," said Philip. " Tell us the part about your 
arrest." 

" Well, when they began to plan for the great anni- 



232 Honeymooning in Russia 

versary, the police were very busy picking out this one 
and that to send out of the city. Before the Tsar came, 
hundreds left. They had to go at least fifteen miles 
from Poltava and stay until the Emperor went. Two of 
my friends went away and spent the time visiting rela- 
tives, so they didn't mind it much. Of course they were 
sorry to miss the celebration. I thought I might be sent, 
but I wasn't. My sister had not yet come home from the 
Conservatory. 

" About a week before the twenty-seventh of June 
(new style), a friend of mine asked me to spend the night 
with her, as her father and mother were telegraphed for 
to attend an uncle's funeral in Kiev. We went to bed, 
alone in the house except for an old woman- servant. At 
one o'clock a light shining in our faces woke us up. The 
servant was holding a lamp for some gendarmes to search 
our room. After they went out, we heard them clatter- 
ing about the house, but Marf a, my friend, said, 6 Go to 
sleep. I burned those papers we spoke about. They will 
go soon.' So we went to sleep. But in an hour we woke 
up. Someone was knocking loudly. ' It must be the 
police back again.' 

" ' Probably,' said Marfa. The old woman came in 
again with the men. I said, l What do you want ? 
Haven't you done hunting here? ' 

" The sergeant of the gendarmes stood in the centre of 
the room with a lantern in his hand and a half-dozen po- 
licemen at his back. 

" t We have just been to your house,' he told me, ' but 
we found nothing.' 

" s I could have saved you the trouble if you had asked 
me when you were here. I knew there was nothing.' 



For the Good of the Empire 233 

" ' Just the same,' he answered, ' I have come Back to 
arrest you.' 

" I sat up in bed. ' But you said you found nothing.' 

" ' I know it, but, nevertheless, I am ordered to serve 
you with this warrant.' 

" i Let me see it.' He handed me the paper. My 
name was there, but the charge wasn't specified. Just 
— 6 for the good of the Empire ' was filled in the blank. 

" ' Will you get up and dress ? ' the sergeant asked me. 
I said I would if he would go out with his men. He sent 
the men out and sat down himself by the window. Of 
course, I didn't like it dressing there before that police- 
man, but I managed it somehow. Marfa was there in 
bed, and the old woman. When I was dressed, I asked 
him to let me go home first so I could see my father and 
get some more clothes. I said good-bye to Marfa, and 
started, under guard, to walk to our house. It was a 
little after two, and bright moonlight. My poor old 
father came to the door and found me on the steps with 
the gendarmes. He began to moan and wring his hands, 
but I told him it would be alright — that I would be out 
again as soon as the Tsar had come and gone. They al- 
lowed me to take a drosky to the gaol. I paid the isvost- 
chik and went in with a policeman holding me by the arm. 
I was put in a cell with some women who were drunk, and 
with some who had been taken off the streets — evil women. 
When the door was opened — the odour — I can't de- 
scribe it. There were no windows and when the door was 
shut again, one could scarcely breathe. Not long af- 
terwards Marfa came. They had taken her, too. Then 
they pushed in a poor working-girl who was hysterical. 
She began to shriek — awful shrieks. From three o'clock 



234 Honeymooning in Russia 

in the morning until nine that night, eight of us women 
suffocated in the pitch-black cell* We had no water and 
no food. They had forgotten us I We were shut in like 
cattle in a cattle-shed, and all the time the hysterical 
girl kept up her screaming. In the hospitals, I have 
heard my share of horrible noises, but I thought I could 
not stand it. Marfa was fainting in my arms. She is 
a delicate girl. Her father is a lawyer, and he is always 
sending her off to the Crimea for her health. One of 
the drunken women began to sing, and one of the others to 
curse. Towards night, the working-girl dropped in a fit. 
I had no water. I could do little for her. When a 
guard finally unlocked the door and let us go out a mo- 
ment, I demanded the prison doctor for the girl, still ly- 
ing on the floor. The doctor came, and gave her a shove 
with his foot, and said she'd be alright soon. Then they 
put her with Marfa and me in a smaller cell by ourselves. 
They gave us nothing to eat. Mattresses were thrown 
on the floor, but they were so alive with vermin that we 
couldn't lie down on them. We spent the night trying to 
rest on a bench about a quarter of an arshin (seven 
inches) wide. Thirty hours after we entered the gaol we 
were brought our first meal — breakfast. It was too 
vile to eat, but we were fainting for food, so we con- 
sumed a few crumbs of bread. 

" Once after that we were taken into the yard for ex- 
ercise. The square was so crowded we could scarcely 
take a step. Still, we were grateful for the air. Before 
we had been out ten minutes, our companion, the fac- 
tory girl, fell to shrieking again, so we were all three hur- 
ried back into our cell. At the end of the sixth day, 
when the Most High had gone, they let us out, and we 



For the Good of the Empire 235 

girls who had been locked up * for the good of the Em- 
pire ' were allowed to go home. My father was in bed, 
ill from worrying about me." 

We stared at the young woman — refined, slender, 
neatly clothed, with an unusually intelligent face. 

" If we should tell that story in America, they would 
not believe it." 

" Our friends would call it ' one of those morbid Rus- 
sian tales,' and set it down as fiction," supplemented my 
husband. 

" I could tell you many worse than that. At least we 
were not attacked by the gendarmes. ..." 

" You spoke of a letter from the boy in Siberia." 

" Yes, I have his last one with me, written my sister 
after he had reached the village in which he must stay — 
no one knows how long." She ran through the leaves 
of her book and found some finely-written pages of thin 
paper. " This work on psychology is by an American, 
William James." 

" Professor William James? " 

She glanced over the title-page. " William James, 
Professor of Psychology, Harvard University, Cambridge, 
Massachusetts. ... It is used as a text-book in 
most Russian Universities. This is the letter," she con- 
tinued, " but I shouldn't dare read it with the possibility 
of officials coming any moment to that door. Since 
the railways belong to the Government, the employes are 
in the Government service." 

" Oh, but a letter actually written in Siberia by the 
hand of an exile ! What would I give to hear it ! " 

" Is there no way we can manage it? Though of 
course we shouldn't want to expose you to — " 



236 Honeymooning in Russia 

" We are slowing down for a stop," she replied, speak- 
ing rapidly. " If you, Monsieur, could stand by the open 
door while the trainmen are on the station platform, I 
could perhaps hold it in the book and translate it 
quickly." 

When the engine stopped, Phil slid back the door, and 
posed languidly, facing the corridor. Our companion 
moved to a seat in the corner nearest him, and farthest 
from the window, while I crossed to sit beside her. My 
note-book and pencil were conveniently at hand and I 
took down the letter almost verbatim. Lest this book 
should fall into the hands of the Russian censor, I have 
garbled the name of the village from which the letter was 
dated. With this exception the following is true, word 

for word: 

Village of Chugat-ox-the-Axgaba. 

Evening — June eighth, 1909. 
My Precious 

Your letter came to me by the hand of the soldiers who brought 
in the last lot of prisoners. If you could imagine what it means to 
know that you have not quite forgotten me, you would at once sit 
down and write a letter of giant proportions. . . . One meets 
exiles who have lived here two or three years, and one marvels at 
the level to which it is possible for a human being to sink. We, 
the newcomers, are still free from the influences of the surround- 
ings. We are hopeful. The experienced ones laugh at us ; some com- 
miserate us. . . . Who will win? We shall see. 

We want to start a library. Whether we shall succeed, we do not 
know. Some declare that if there were books, there would be no 
one to read them. And it is true, the worry about the daily bread 
drags down the most of us to a very low depth. Work, work, hard 
work, work not unlike the work of the criminals in the mines, takes 
up the time. 

With some co-operation, with a common effort, there is a possibil- 
ity of utilising opportunities to earn a livelihood, opportunities over- 
looked by the local residents, thanks to their laziness. It would be 



For the Good of the Empire 237 

possible, I say, to earn one's daily bread and still avoid the need 
of mis-spending one's energy; but such are the environments that 
the exiles come to live just like the natives, and one wonders what 
becomes of the intelligence, initiative, and ability of a cultured 
person. True, some find their way out of this darkness, but they 
usually go to the other extreme and become merchants, or to name 
them more correctly, usurers. Those who boast of an outside in- 
come live comparatively well. Some maintain the outward appear- 
ance of loyalty to the Revolution, but the semblance is, metaphor- 
ically, covered with a grey dust and lacks the living life of active 
interest. 

Of course there are some extraordinary circumstances. One lives 
here among barbarians. Existence as understood by the local peas- 
ants consists in heavy drinking of vodka, and the spread of unspeaka- 
ble diseases. 

Prices are enormous, for the towns and cities are in the far dis- 
tances, and demand justifies the dealers in putting exorbitant prices 
on their goods. One never knows what he will have to pay. In 
selling to one another the peasants ask lower prices than when deal- 
ing with the exiles. 

An interesting index of their intelligence is furnished by the ex- 
periences of my friend who was last year in the University, and 
who takes the place of the local physician now on leave of absence. 

" Let me have some quinine," pleads a muzhik mother with him. 

" What is the matter with you? " 

"Well, my little boy has a dreadful pain in his stomach. . . ." 

" Then you don't want quinine." 

" Didn't you give quinine to Timothy, and didn't it help him? " 

" I can't give the same medicine to everybody." 

"You're stingy, your honour. Alright — as you like," and she 
leaves greatly displeased. If there is a medicine man in the ham- 
let, she goes to him. Even in the villages which boast a doctor and 
a drug-store, there are native women who claim to cure all through 
the mystic power of certain intonations. They have a large prac- 
tice. 

The peasants are interested in newspapers. One hears often, 
"When you are through reading those papers, give them to me. 
They'll do to cover the walls." I visited a peasant's hut recently, 
and looking at me from the walls were the head-lines of every pro- 
gressive Russian newspaper. 



238 Honeymooning in Russia 

June ninth. 

I found a room with a married comrade. The place will cost us 
very little — a ruble a month for each of us. Others have to pay 
three or four rubles, but we have very little money. Our common 
treasury contains at this moment but three rubles. (One dollar 
and a half!) 

One needs at least eight rubles a month to live on, but if neces- 
sary, I will try to live on five. The Government, you know, allows 
us three with which to buy food, lodging and clothes. 

Fresh meat is unknown here, so we eat salt pork or smoked deer 
meat. The odour is frightful. "VVe have one square meal a day — 
dinner. About half a pound of meat and a plate of soup is the 
usual portion. For supper we have sour milk. So far we have 
plenty of tea, and the comrades I live with have still enough sugar. 
But it will run short soon, and then no more of this luxury. 

If we only had books, everything would be so much easier. How 
I should like a copy of Karl Marx' " Capital," or Taine's " Origin 
of Contemporary France" ! 

(" Here," said the translator, looking up, " a para- 
graph is torn out. My sister considered it dangerous 
to keep the letter in her possession otherwise. As it is, 
we are running more or less of a risk. When I read it 
to my father I shall burn it.") 

The comrade who is now the local physician examined my heart 
and finds an organic defect. He advises me not to chop wood and 
drag logs. But what can I do? That is the only occupation open 
to me here. . . . 

I am ready to suffer even more only that the chain holding me 
to the Revolutionary party remains unbroken. Out of this move- 
ment, I cannot live. 



The station gong sounded and the engine shrieked. 
The trainmen came aboard with the passengers who had 
been walking up and down the platform. Up to the last 
moment, the young woman beside me continued to trans- 
late the phrases written by the exile. Occasionally we 



For the Good of the Empire 239 

asked her to repeat a sentence, and she would put it into 
French or into hestitating English. 

Once a man came along the corridor. At a signal from 
Phil in the doorway, the book was quickly closed. I rose 
to look out of the window. . . . The man passed, 
and the reading went on. 

When the conductor came again for our tickets, Phil 
was playing with Happy, who had been sleeping in the 
folds of a rug. Our companion was once more engrossed 
in her reading. I was dozing in the corner. 

Four hours' travel had brought us the distance which 
separates New York from Philadelphia. We drew into 
the station at Poltava. 

" We had best not go out together," advised our co- 
traveller. " I am sorry. I should like to have shown 
you the city." We shook hands. 

" Can't I help you with your bag? " Phil lifted it down 
from the rack. 

" No, thank you. Here is the porter. I shall be al- 
right. Good-bye." 

She gave instructions to the dvornik and turned to 
follow him. But I detained her with my hand on her 
arm, to ask a question which had been hovering on my 
lips ever since she had told us her story. 

" Why do you stay in Russia? " I said quickly. " You 
have your education, and youth. Why don't you go to 
England or America? " 

She listened earnestly. It seemed a new thought to 
her. But she shook her head. " No," she replied. 
" My father is here, and my little sister. What I have 
studied is in Russian. I am learning to be a Russian 



240 Honeymooning in Russia 

doctor. I should be little use anywhere else. No, Rus- 
sia is my home. I must stay in Russia. ..." 

"Well, good-bye." 

" Good-bye, again. Good-bye to you, sir," she re- 
peated, as she met Phil in the corridor. " Did you find a 
drosky and porters? If you wish a hotel — well, there 
isn't a really first-class one in the city; still, you may 
find the ' St. Petersburgh ' alright. Good-bye." 

" Thank you. Good-bye." 

" Good-bye." 

Poltava, at the heart of Little Russia, lies on a hill and 
overlooks the Vorskla river, which a little way further 
south helps to swell the Dnieper's flood. A rampart en- 
closes the city. There is a white monastery and a colony 
of cupola-crowned churches. In the centre of a square 
is an obelisk commemorative of Peter the Great, to whom 
there are almost as many monuments in Russia as there 
are in Germany to William I. Another memorial has 
been raised on the site of the house where he rested after 
the crucial battle. 

At the three annual fairs a big trade is done in wool, 
grain, and cattle. The chief one, the Ilyinskaia, is held 
every year between the twenty-third of July and the 
twenty-third of August. It had closed about a week be- 
fore our arrival. Four miles from the town the Rus- 
sians fought and conquered the Swedes, June twenty-sev- 
enth, 1709. In the centre of the battle-ground is the 
grave of nine thousand Swedes — a mound of earth forty 
feet high. 

Charles XII lost his reason because of his defeat, and 
Sweden has never since posed as a military power. On 



For the Good of the Empire 241 

the other hand the victory assured to Peter I the suc- 
cess of his westernising ambitions, and secured Russia's 
position in the north. 

Arminsk lay on a new line leading from Poltava to Eka- 
terinoslav. Three years ago, transportation was by post- 
road only. When we had bought the tickets we tried 
to dispel our nervousness by walking quickly up and down 
until the train was made up. We found seats in a car 
not unlike an American day-coach in arrangement. 
There was an aisle with double seats on one side and 
single ones on the other. They were placed back to back 
like the centre seats of a New York elevated train, and 
were covered with red and white ticking. 

The conductor, in his smart black and magenta, came 
from the voksal buffet wiping his lips. The bell and 
whistle signals for which our impatient ears had been 
waiting, were given at last. There came the catapultic 
jerk which marks the starting of a Russian engine. The 
wheels moved; the guard entrained. Arminsk was forty 
miles away. We should be at the door of Roman's house 
in three hours I 



$J 



Chapter XV 

the widow Kirsanov's lodgers 

\_sARTS and waggons sank to their hubs in dust about 
the new brick station. " Arminsk? " inquired Philip of 
a Little Russian in an embroidered shirt. We found our- 
selves on the platform surrounded by impedimenta. 
There was no town in sight. "Arminsk?" "Da, da," 
assented the black-eyed villager. We searched the fore- 
ground for a housetop. He smiled broadly and signed 
to a church cupola at least three miles away. " Arm- 
insk," he explained succinctly. We gazed in consterna- 
tion. Then a farmer beckoned towards the hay-strewn 
bottom of his waggon. " Well, come on," urged my op- 
timistic half, " if the village won't come to the rail- 
way, we'll have to go to the village." He took a bag in 
one hand and a roll of rugs in the other. Our informant 
accommodatingly hoisted a box to his shoulder. Happy 
and I trailed behind with a suit-case. Our trunks had 
been sent by express direct from Moscow to Sevastopol. 
Philip, practised by now in the art of bargaining, ar- 
ranged for our conveyance to the distant selo for fifty ko- 
peks apiece. Exhorted to " hop along, my pigeon," the 
farm-horse galloped by fields of sunflowers, their faces 
turned always to the east. 

The dust veiled us in a yellow cloud, and, as Phil 
stammered, the jouncing was enough to unhinge one's 
joints. "Sit on the rugs," he admonished. "You'll 
fall to pieces if you don't." 



The Widow Kirsanov's Lodgers 243 

" Oh, dear, I hope these bottles won't break and come 
dripping through ! " I was almost inarticulate from the 
choking dust. Phil turned up the suit-case and sat on 
its battered end. Then he balanced the box of dainties 
on his knees. Thus perched upon our baggage, we en- 
tered the straight village street. Houses and shops had 
been set down in hit or miss fashion. There was a cob- 
bled square and a rambling inn. The door of the traktir 
framed the figure of the kupets, abacus in hand. 

" Stdi, stdi," called Philip, clambering over the tail- 
piece, " here is the man to read our directions for us. 
Of course this charioteer doesn't know one character 
from another." The kupets, scenting the arrival of pa- 
trons, advanced with elaborate warmth. Philip proffered 
the slip of paper upon which Mile. Liuba had written in 
Russian : " Be so kind as to direct us to the house of 
someone who can help us make a desirable selection of 
native embroideries. We wish to buy examples of the 
peasant handiwork to take to America." (She had said, 
as she formulated the written inquiry, " Anyone in so 
little a town will be sure to think of the widow Kirsa- 
nov.") The inn-keeper looked from Phil to me, sitting 
in the telega cloaked in dust. " So these were Ameri- 
cans," his expression interpreted. He rushed off to call 
his wife to look at us. Two daughters came hastily to 
gaze curiously at the Gospodin in the oddly-cut clothes. 
With the exception of the veil which covered my hat and 
was crossed to tie under the chin, my apparel excited no 
especial interest because of its dusty disguise. But the 
lengths of chiffon set them to scrutinising and conjectur- 
ing while the father in kaftan and boots, and the mother 
in a skirt to her shoe-tops and a handkerchief over her 



244 Honeymooning in Russia 

head, discussed the question we had propounded. I 
caught the name Kirsanov, and threw a glance of relief 
to Philip. Then I frowned at him as he began to fidget. 
Mademoiselle had cautioned us that there was no easier 
way to create suspicion in a muzhik than to hurry him. 
Why should one be in a hurry? It was not usual. There 
must be something wrong here. 

So we waited with apparent tranquillity in the hot 
southern sun until the matter had been thoroughly 
threshed out and it had been decided by the Council of 
Four that we could not do better than to advise with the 
woman named Kirsanov concerning the peasant needle- 
workers. 

The kupets, flattered to have been consulted upon so 
weighty a matter, volunteered to show us the widow's 
house, and, walking beside our vehicle of torture, named 
from time to time the important office of a pedestrian and 
obligingly pointed out the various objects of interest — 
the church; the pope's house; the pope himself; the ap- 
teka, designated by a sign showing rows of bottles; the 
starosta, or village head; the bath-house, where each 
Saturday there is an orgy of steam-bathing followed by 
an hilarious switching of the nude bodies with goliks, or 
twigs. The houses were less dilapidated than those we 
had seen in Great Russia. Many were of brick and had 
tin roofs. A few were distinguished by having two stor- 
ies. Before one of these, the kupets halted the cart. 
" Kirsanov," he said agreeably, and went to knock on the 
heavy wooden door. 

A boy of perhaps twenty-three answered. His figure 
was poised with dignity as he listened to the voluble ex- 



The Widow Kirsanov's Lodgers 245 

planation of the merchant. There was the latent fire of 
idealism in his eyes and he carried his head with the 
grace of the southron. He opened the door wider and 
stood back for us to enter. " Could this youth be Pe- 
trovsky? " we wondered as we thanked the kupets and 
went in, leaving the cart to wait with our luggage. 

In a low-ceilinged room, clean and cosey, the widow Kir- 
sanov welcomed us. We presented the letter we had 
brought from Shulov. She sat on the bench built against 
three sides of the room and read it through. She turned 
the page to see the signature. Her expression scarcely 
changed. When she finished, she sat a moment looking 
steadily at us. Then she spoke the word navolochka, and 
thereupon I unclasped a thin chain and handed it to her 
with Liuba's dangling locket. Her fingers trembled a lit- 
tle as she opened the case. The picture was Petrov- 
sky's. She. rose quickly from the bench, took us each by 
the hand, and saying something in a low voice, left the 
room with the locket. 

" So far, so good," said Phil. " She is exactly as Liuba 
described her." He parted the curtains and looked into 
the' street. I walked about the room. I opened the bag 
on my wrist as I had done, perhaps fifty times in the 
past forty-eight hours, to assure myself of the safety of 
a certain package. I crossed to look at the ikon. A 
tiny loaf of bread lay before it with a pencilled verse on 
the crust. There was a cross on the ceiling. I looked 
at that. I examined the procession of sprites and de- 
mons engraved on the urn of the samovar. Happy ap- 
proached me with tail wagging low and a puzzled ex- 
pression in her eyes. I lifted her sternly and set her on 



246 Honeymooning in Russia 

the painted bench. My hands were cold, my cheeks on 
fire. A week ago, the name of Liuba Marilov meant 
nothing to us. To-day we were under the roof with the 
man she loved to help him escape from the net which held 
him. If the knowledge of our errand came tq the ears 
of the uriadnik — well, that was a situation we had left to 
the future . . . for the present we must think with 
accuracy and act fast. No lines must be forgotten nor 
bits of business bungled in the drama about to begin. 
The door opened slowly and a shadow fell across the 
floor. In the doorway stood the man we had come to 
see. 

The tall form steadied itself, with one thin hand cling- 
ing to the lintel and the other resting on the latch. The 
pallor of skin and lips, the dull eyes told us we had come 
none too soon. When he had closed the door he leaned 
against it as if too weak to hold himself upright. Philip 
pushed a chair towards him, but he continued to stand 
with his head lifted, and his gaze roaming from one to 
the other. From his fingers the locket hung by its 
twisted chain. He opened his straight lips, but they 
quivered so he could not speak. Clinging to the chair- 
back, he touched Phil's sleeve. " You have brought me 
this from Liuba? " He raised the pendant with shak- 
ing fingers. " You have come all the way from Shulov 
with a message to me in Arminsk? Why?" His voice 
was compelling, ill as he was. 

" Because we are Mademoiselle Marilov's friends and 
yours. You are not well; you must not let our coming 
make you worse." 

" I have been ill many weeks, but this — your coming 
from Liuba, will make me well." He smiled wanly and 



The Widow Kirsanov's Lodgers 247 

dropped into the rough chair behind him. " You won't 
go away again to-day? I see a man waiting with your 
luggage." 

" We will stay perhaps several days," I answered. 
" Can you tell us where to find a room near by ? " 

"Why not here? The sudarynya has one just va- 
cated by the apothecary. She asked me to say she would 
be glad to have you take that." 

" Then we will have our things brought in immedi- 
ately." Philip went to the door. 

I put my hand within the bulging bag. " These are 
for you," I said, as Petrovsky rose to meet me and I 
placed in his open hands Liuba's letters, written each day 
since he had been in exile. At first he did not under- 
stand. He drew out the top one. ..." October 
third, 1908 — October third — why this is the day I was 
brought from Moscow. How — " His slender fingers 
opened another. " And this bears the date October 
fourth — there must be — " 

" Don't you see ? She has written you every day with 
the hope that sometime just this would happen. Some 
are written like a diary with only a few lines for each 
date, but not one day has she failed to inscribe some 
message." 

" In all these months she has not forgotten me one 
single day . . . you have brought me these letters 
from her which I can read again and again after you 
have gone and the black days come back. ..." 
With his arms enfolding his love's letters he sat gazing 
before him, hardly comprehending yet all they meant to 
him. When Phil came in, Petrovsky was crouched in his 
chair, his eyes dropped and his fingers fumbling the let- 



248 Honeymooning in Russia 

ters in his lap. He was breathing quickly and his lips 
were white. 

" Run, dear, a glass of wine. He is exhausted with the 
shock of our coming." 

I could hear Phil opening the box upstairs. In a mo- 
ment he was back. 

"Will you take this?" He held out the glass. "It 
is wine made at Shulov. Mademoiselle Marilov sent you 
several bottles of it, and other good things to make you 
better." 

Petrovsky drank the wine and looked up gratefully, his 
fine face flushed and his eyes brighter. " I am better 
already. Just to hear you say her name makes me 
better." 

" I can believe it. There are not many like her that 
we know." 

" You cannot conceive my feelings to see you here." 
Liuba's lover rose and stood more erect. " This," he said, 
" is the one happy hour I have known for eleven months." 
He extended a hand which Phil took in a sympathetic 
grasp. 

" With the good God's help," he affirmed, " it is the 
first of many happier ones to come." For a long mo- 
ment the two men stood hand to hand — the Russian, tall, 
thin, magnetic even in his weakness — my American 
Philip, no less tall, broad, honest and manly. 

" I don't know what you mean," Petrovsky told him, 
and laid his left over their clasped right hands ; " but I do 
know that whatever you mean, I can trust you ! " 

Late in the night I awoke and saw a line of light under 
the exile's door. In the morning his eyes were heavy, 
but his face was tranquil and less worn, 




The Widow Kirsanov and the Batushka's 
Daughter 



The Widow Kirsanov's Lodgers 249 

" Can you believe that I did not go to sleep until I 
had read very nearly every word of my letters ? " he 
asked with a smile. We were alone in the bright living- 
room. 

" Easily. No man ever had a lovelier sweetheart. 
Her face is no more beautiful than her spirit, her nature. 
We grew to love her in a few hours. If I were a man I 
should adore her." 

The man turned his head to look out the narrow window. 
" There are many who have — adored her. In these past 
months when I could not hear from her, I was tormented 
by the thought that she might have — forgotten." 

" Just as she was haunted by the fear that you might 
think she had ! " 

I told him what she had said in the wood, and of our 
meeting and of the two days we spent with her — the 
Lady of Shulov. 

" And yet," said Petrovsky brokenly, " I may never see 
her again." He paced the room, his head and shoulders 
drooping in a characteristic attitude. 

I tried to divert him by saying, " You seem better to- 
day." 

" Yes, I am stronger, but of what use is it ? For weeks 
I have thought death was to bring my early release, and 
I have been almost glad — glad to think I should s*oon 
be free of the hampering bonds, and the torture of exist- 
ence. I am useless — useless to myself and to the cause of 
Free Russia. The finger of the Government is on my lips. 
I shall not be allowed to teach even my little school this 
winter. The authorities are suddenly fearful that my 
reform ideas will leak through lessons on geography and 
problems in addition. I am unable to do manual labour 



250 Honeymooning in Russia 

for a living. I should have starved this summer but for 
my good friends the Sudarynya and her son." 

" Her son? He is the one who let us in." 

" I think so. I heard his voice at the door." 

" We thought he might be you." 

" When I came here to live there were people who said 
we were brothers. I wish we were. I am very fond of 
him." 

" And so he is of you. He told us last night how he 
admired you." 

" He knows no English. How did you talk together? " 

" He speaks German." 

" Ah, yes, he has studied with the apothecary, who is a 
Baltic Russian. He works in the apteka with him." 

" He has an unusually interesting face." 

" And a very good mind. I wish he could have ad- 
vantages impossible to obtain here." 

" Could he act as a courier? We think we shall need 
one travelling in the Crimea and elsewhere." 

" An interpreter, you mean ? I should think he would 
do excellently. He is observant, quick, willing. It would 
be a wonderful chance for him. Would you really think 
seriously of it? " 

" You would miss him ? " 

" I should console myself thinking what it meant to 
him to escape for even a little while from the narrowness 
of this village." 

" Philip," as his foot sounded on the stair, " come in 
a moment." 

I told him what Petrovsky had said of the young man, 
Michael. We agreed that during the rest of our journey 
we might find it awkward to make our way without a 



The Widow Kirsanov's Lodgers 251 

knowledge of Russian. Considering his friend's recom- 
mendation, we decided that the widow's son would suit us 
admirably. So we determined that Petrovsky should ask 
him if he would go, explaining his duties and remunera- 
tion. 

When we returned in the late afternoon, the enthused 
face which greeted us made unnecessary his words of ac- 
ceptance. We had been with the widow to inspect the 
drawn-work and embroidery of a family of five daughters, 
and had bought, too cheaply for our conscience' sake, 
linens wrought with eye-straining skill. Bundles and all, 
our hands were seized with impulsive gratitude the mo- 
ment we appeared at the door of the cottage. The sec- 
retary of the village commune, the pesar, passing by, 
looked in at the sound of voices in the open doorway. 
Instantly he was hailed. When they had told him the 
good luck that had come to his young fellow townsman, 
their hands were shaken heartily with profuse nods of 
felicitation. A little way down the street he met a pa- 
triarch of the mir, who was stopped and made to listen to 
the news. Young Michael Ivanovitch (son of his father 
named Ivan) was going away with the Amerikanets who 
arrived yesterday to purchase the unequalled embroid- 
eries of the ladies of Arminsk ! In the evening we es- 
caped from the press of congratulating neighbours who 
thronged the living-room and drank gallons of hot tea- 
tinted water drawn from the happy mother's samovar. 

" It will be wonderful for him, wonderful," Petrovsk} T 
repeated with glowing eyes, as the sounds of the merry- 
making came up to us in the bare little room where the 
exile rested on his couch. He stroked the puppy lying 
with her head on his wrist. " Forgive me if it is a pre- 



252 Honeymooning in Russia 

sumption to ask, but when will you leave? " His face 
contracted with pain. 

" Not until you are better." 

He flashed us a look of gratitude. 

" I cannot bear to think you will go quite yet. Your 
words have strengthened me; my soul was hungry for a 
message from the one I love, and for news of others in- 
volved in the cause for the sake of which I am here." 

" If your mind were made well, would you be quite 
strong again? " 

" It is only worry which makes me ill." 

Phil leaned forward to touch one poor hand. " Have 
you thought what relief you might find in the money we 
brought from Liuba? " 

"Yes, I have thought. I can pay back to the widow 
Kirsanov all I owe, and I need not worry any more about 
bread — for as long as I am here. So much will Liuba's 
rubles assure me." 

" She sent them to buy you more than that." My 
heart jumped at Phil's words; I shut my hands tight. 

" More than bread? What else could money buy me, 
a prisoner within these limits? " 

" Release," Phil answered him slowly. 

"Release — freedom for me? You are jesting." 

" I am in earnest. We have come to help you — es- 
cape — from Arminsk." 

Petrovsky paled at the measured words. He leaned 
on an elbow and stared. He drew himself to a sitting 
posture and continued to stare, gripping the bed-rail. 
" To — help — me — escape ! " he whispered. " And if 
I should escape from this village, where should I go? To 
the selo beyond to be taken by the Cossacks and dragged 



The Widow Kirsanov's Lodgers 253 

back by the heels to be beaten in the square? " He bared 
his arms. " This is what they gave me one night when 
my mind seemed to have left me and I wandered in a maze 
to the outskirts of the town. I was picked up by the 
constable beyond the line. They gave me fifty strokes of 
the whip. Here are their marks. Do you think, pos- 
sessed of my senses, I shall try it again? I escape? I? " 
he repeated, as he sank against the pillow, a bruised arm 
across his breast. 

In the street, a youthful chorus was singing a song of 
Little Russia, while their elders in the room below still 
discussed over the Fountain of Cheer the all-engrossing 
topic of the widow Kirsanov's good fortune. 

" Forgive me," begged Phil. " You are too ill. I 
should not have spoken now, but Liuba told us you once 
carried a false passport and that you escaped by that 
means from the Petersburgh trap." Petrovsky's head 
was in his hands. " She dreamed of some such ruse free- 
ing you again; but it was the possibility of our coming 
here which crystallised the dream into hope. She has 
not forgotten what you talked of the night on the ter- 
race of the Kremlin." 

The white face lifted. " Nor have I — one waking 
moment. But, my friends, if I should attempt to leave 
this village, I should be taken again in an hour. I have 
no passport, not even a forged one. And if I had, what 
would it avail me in this hamlet where I am known from 
pristav to smallest child and where strangers come so 
seldom their every move is inquired into. When Michael 
went to the police last night with your passport he was 
stormed with questions. It is scarcely safe for you to 
be here now talking with me. If it were known that you 



254 Honeymooning in Russia 

had come purposely to see me — I do not like to think 
what might happen." 

" Nothing can happen. Our motive in coming to Arm- 
insk was announced when we asked the trader for direc- 
tions. Your name has not been mentioned. We will not 
be seen with you. Do not fear. We shall be discreet." 

I sat thinking of Liuba. Every moment we talked here 
she was waiting for the word which would tell her, her 
hopes had been realised. Pinned inside my blouse was 
the code she had arranged. She had confided to us money 
to effect her lover's escape and to pay his way across 
the frontier where he should await her. But with us and 
with him remained the grim responsibility of finding the 
way out. 

" Think no more about it — I beg you," Petrovsky 
besought us as he put a hand on Phil's shoulder. " I am 
a prisoner of the Government. If you were taken for 
conniving at my escape, the influence of your Ambassador 
and the State Department would amount to little. Your 
punishment would be as severe as that of a Russian sym- 
pathiser in the same position." 

"But Liuba," I said, "how are we going to tell her? 
Her arrangements are complete by now to leave on the 
moment of receiving the favourable despatch which she 
believes will come. Think of her agonising disappoint- 
ment!" 

" I cannot let myself think of it," he answered sternly. 
" It is the inevitable." 

We slept little during the night. Across the entry, we 
could hear the widow's lodger turning restlessly upon his 
creaking bed. 

I dreamed of the girl waiting at Shulov. I saw her 



The Widow Kirsanov's Lodgers 255 

face as she opened an envelope and crushed it to her lips 
with a gesture of ecstasy. But when I awoke, there was 
our simple room and my husband standing over me, fully 
dressed. " What is it? " I asked. 

" Nothing. I could not sleep." 

"Is it late?" 

" Only about six. I am going to send some word to 
Liuba. We must at least let her know Roman is alive 
and that we are with him." 

I took an envelope from under my pillow. " Then 
send her this : ' Advise us as to number of table-scarfs 
desired.' That means — ' Reached Arminsk. Are with 
Roman. No developments yet.' You have the Moscow 
address she gave us?" 

" Yes — Volkonsky, Presnik Peroulok 7. Michael will 
drive me to the telegraph office. He has gone for a 
waggon." 

" Have you had tea? " 

" Yes, downstairs. Good-bye, dear." 

" Good-bye." I heard the heavy cart rumble away. 
For a long time I lay thinking despondently of our shat- 
tered hopes. If Petrovsky could only use our passport 
and return it to us after he was safely across the border 
— but I knew that was impracticable. In the first place, 
our passport was issued at Washington to an American 
citizen and his wife. And even if he could, with his ex- 
cellent knowledge of English, impersonate an American, 
the document would bear incriminating dates and stamps 
when he returned it to us which would be remarked when 
we ourselves presented it later. Likewise, it would be 
futile for us to buy him a counterfeit passport from a 
border Jew, since, even if he could receive it undetected, 



256 Honeymooning in Russia 

the business of a stranger leaving the village would, as 
he said, be inquired into too closely to make plausible es- 
cape by that means. A Russian passport is police per- 
mission to live, to move, to have one's being. Without it, 
one is criminal in the eyes of the law. The more I cog- 
itated the problem, the more I realised the apparent hope- 
lessness of solving it. Petrovsky knew better than we. 
Broken and unmanned, he might some day be released 
by the gaoler. Until then, he must remain a prisoner — ■ 
unless Death freed him first! 

I had engaged to take one or two embroidery lessons 
to excuse our lingering in the village. Neither of us 
was ready yet to face the pain of bidding good-bye to the 
sick man whose tragic cause so engrossed us. 

I was off to my lesson before the cart came back from 
the station. The priest's daughter opened the door — a 
rather comely girl, with a red and white kerchief knot- 
ted at her neck and another over her head. The pop was 
stretched on the wall-bench in a drunken sleep, while the 
wife tended her melon-patch at the side of the white- 
washed cottage. Silently, for neither knew the language 
of the other, the young girl and I sat down to our lesson. 
The scarf in her hand was embroidered and buttonholed 
in green, tan, and yellow. It was perhaps three yards 
long and there was not a square inch of unworked linen. 
Even the edging, pointed like crocheted lace, was a mass 
of buttonholing. Let into the body were squares of con- 
trasting lace picked out in white and yellow. I had 
bought one similar to it the previous day for nine dol- 
lars. For more than an hour I sat beside my teacher, 
as I bent with heavy heart over a strip of hand-woven 
linen and a needleful of orange thread. The day was 



The Widow Kirsanov's Lodgers 257 

hot and the doors stood open. The mother, coming in 
from the garden, stopped to wash her hands at the spout 
of the water-kettle hanging on the tiny porch. She 
wiped them on her skirt and went to fetch chunks of wood, 
which she thrust into the tiled stove and lighted. In a 
moment there was a leaping fire within the bricked oven. 
When the wood was burned to red embers, she stopped the 
chimney and shut the stove-door, first setting next to the 
coals some tins of bread and a pot of soup. The stove, 
reaching almost to the ceiling and filling a fourth of the 
room, began to grow hot. By the time my lesson was 
over I was glad to flee to the scorched street, so well had 
this particular stove sustained the reputation of the Rus- 
sian heating system. 

I rounded the corner of the commune hall. Michael 
was coming down the steps. We walked along together. 
" I have just been to apply for my passport and to 
pay the fee of seventeen rubles which permits me to 
cross the frontier and to stay six months." 

" And if you should stay a year? " 

" Oh, then I should have to pay another fifteen rubles." 
He glanced at the work-bag on my wrist. 

" And I have been to take a lesson in needle-work," I 
explained. " The priest's daughter is my teacher." 

" Did you see the batushka? " 

" Yes, but he didn't see me." I laughed. 

Michael laughed, too. " He was drunk, I suppose." 

"Very." 

" He usually is, our batushka." 

" I believe that is a failing of Orthodox priests. This 
pope's family seems very poor." 

" But they should be prosperous in comparison with 



258 Honeymooning in Russia 

their parishioners. They have the church land to cul- 
tivate besides his salary of three hundred rubles a year." 

" And his fees ? " 

" Yes, fees for marrying, and for driving away cattle 
plagues and droughts. Funeral fees, too, and lots of 
others — he is called to anoint the sick, to bless the seed- 
sowing, the harvests, and the fruit before it is gathered. 
This priest of ours, he is a i merchant pope.' He will 
not marry, bury, or bless until he is promised as much 
as he demands. A friend of mine who wanted to be mar- 
ried had to wait for months until he earned fifty rubles 
to pay the priest. He makes money, too, selling false 
certificates of communion." 

"What are they?" 

" Certificates that a man has taken communion at least 
once a year. He must be able to prove it to the police 
under certain circumstances. Oh, our priest makes 
enough. His wife is lucky — ' happy as a priest's wife,' 
we say." 

" Roman Catholic priests are forbidden to marry." 

" With us a priest must have a wife before he can have 
a cure. If his wife dies, he has to leave the church or 
enter a monastery." 

He touched his cap to a young woman who came out 
of the apothecary shop. " She is the f eldscher, the phy- 
sician's assistant. In our village we have one vratch, or 
head physician. When he is busy or tired, he sends his 
feldscher. This one is a very nice feldscher. I see her 
often in the apteka, where I work." Michael's conscious 
manner told me he thought her a very nice feldscher, in- 
deed. She entered an izba just ahead of us where we 
heard the crying of a very little baby. As we came 



The Widow Kirsanov's Lodgers 259 

abreast of the door, we saw her standing just within it, 
and heard her arguing with the young mother who held 
a wee form swaddled in red. Michael stopped and called 
out something to them. As the mother turned to reply 
the doctor seized the baby and resisted the efforts of the 
mother to take it again. We walked on. 

" Why are they quarrelling over the baby ? " 

" It is sick. The mother wants to wash it over the 
cross painted on the threshold, but the feldscher will not 
let her." 

" I should think not." 

" It seems a foolish practice, but there are many who 
believe it drives out the evil spirit." 

"Do you believe it?" 

" It might help. I knew a family once who neglected 
to sprinkle the foundation of their izba with the blood of 
an animal. Within a year after the house was finished, 
the father was sent away for arson, their horse died, and 
the grandmother went blind." 

" And if they had remembered to sprinkle the blood? " 

" And had put the animal's head under the ikon corner, 
probably none of those things would have happened." 

A wretched old man leaned from the window of a 
tumbled-down hut. Michael spoke to him, and the poor 
creature answered him with a smile, in the midst of his 
rags. His face was gentle, and his voice so patient. 
One day I found a poem by the Russian, Nikitin, which 
describes him: 

Old Gaffer, with white beard and smooth 

bald head, 
Sits in his chair. 

His little mug of water and his bread, 
Stand near him there. 



260 Honeymooning in Russia 

Grey as a badger he: his brew is lined; 
His features worn. 

He's left a world of cark and care behind 
Since he was born. 

The old man still plaits shoes, with 

fingers slow, 
From bark of birch; 

His wants are few, his greatest joy to go 
Into God's church. 

He stands within the porch, against 

the wall, 
Mutt'ring his prayers. 
A loyal child, he thanks the Lord for all 
Life's griefs and cares. 

Cheery he lives — with one foot in 

the grave — 
In his dark hole. 
Whence does he draw the strength that 

keeps him brave, 
Poor peasant soul? 

Philip was helping the widow shell beans at the side 
doorstep, with Happy and an infantile kitten rolling 
amiably at his feet. 

"There was no trouble about the telegram?" He 
shook his head gloomily. I sat down beside him and took 
up a handful of the plump pods. " I'll help you, good 
boy. Did you know we were going this afternoon to the 
Cossack camp ? " 

"With whom?" 

" With Michael, our courier. I like him so much. I 
am glad he is going away with us." 

" So am I. I wish someone else was too." 

" Don't ! I can't get Liuba out of my mind." 



The Widow Kirsanov's Lodgers 261 

" And I can't forget the poor fellow's face last night 
— and his bruises." 

" Have you seen him this morning? " 

" Yes. He was awake all night." 

" When the beans are shelled let's go upstairs to see 
him." 

He came to the door with a letter in his hand. I 
smiled significantly, and he touched the written page. 
" It is the one which comforts me most. She says — but 
I will read you one part. Won't you sit here, Madame? 
There are cigarettes on the table, Mr. Houghton." He 
scanned a sheet filled with Liuba's writing. " This is it 
■ — s In the organisation, we remember our exiled com- 
rades as though they were with us yesterday. You suf- 
fer, you are lonely — but do not forget that what you 
have taught us we are practising, that your martyrdom 
is our inspiration here in Moscow.' When I read that I 
feel perhaps my life-work is not utterly annulled." 

To our mystification, he went to a corner of the room, 
and stooping, lifted out a piece of boarding with the aid 
of a knife-blade. A space between the inner wall and the 
bricks was half-filled with letters and personal effects. 
" This is my safe," he said over his shoulder. " My room 
has been searched twice, but the uriadnik's eyes were not 
quite sharp enough to see this slit in the wood. I could 
not have had better luck if I had bribed him." 

"The uriadnik — he is the town constable?" 

" The town thief also. Theoretically, he receives 
eighteen rubles a month. Actually, he is able to live in 
peasant luxury on his bribes. Still one can't judge him 
too severely. He is at the bottom of the ladder. On 
every rung sits a dishonest official." 



262 Honeymooning in Russia 

" Does that apply to the army also ? " 

" Police officers are bribed. Army officers steal. I 
know a colonel in a Siberian regiment who receives from 
the Government a four-thousand-ruble salary, and who 
steals forty thousand a year out of the amount allotted 
him to buy supplies for his men." Petrovsky fitted the 
board into place, and stretched his lithe length on the 
couch. 

"What are the private soldiers paid?" 

" Oh, less than a ruble a month — twenty-five cents in 
your money." 

" And our men get more than fifty times that amount ! " 

" Two-thirds of the nation's entire revenue is absorbed 
in the maintenance of the army and navy, and yet our 
common soldiers are the worst paid in Europe. The 
peasants are taxed so heavily that half their earnings 
go for State and communal assessments. There is the 
enormous revenue obtained by the Government from the 
sale of vodka. According to official statistics, and they 
are usually understated for dishonest reasons, the sale of 
stamps and the income from the mines and crown do- 
mains bring the revenue to not less than 570,000,000 
rubles a year. A fifth of the annual budget is stolen — 
at least a fifth. It is the national disgrace that our of- 
ficials from humble gendarme to bureaucratic head are 
amenable to the touch of gold in the palm. There is 
now pending an investigation of a shortage of 2,000,000 
rubles last year in the quartermaster's department of the 
army." 

"An investigation? Someone disgruntled with his 
share must have informed," Phil laughed as he lit a ciga- 
rette, " You say the peasants are taxed half their in- 



The Widow Kirsanov's Lodgers 263 

come, and jet they earn an average of only a hundred 
dollars a year? How can they live?" 

" By wearing their sheepskin coats until they fall from 
their backs ; by mixing roots and tree-bark with their 
flour; by stuffing every crack through which the winter 
cold could come, and living, sometimes two or three fam- 
ilies together to save heat, in one room fifteen feet square, 
and at night, sleeping on the stove, on shelves built near 
the ceiling, or on the dirt floor with the farm animals, if 
they are so fortunate as to have saved them from the tax 
collector. If through drought or famine, the muzhik 
cannot pay the collector, his last horse or cow is taken, 
and if his outbuildings are already empty, he is beaten 
in the square, receiving as many lashes as the starosta 
dictates. The majority of our farmers, who form eighty- 
five per cent, of the entire population of 160,000,000, 
never have enough to eat, owing to ignorance of the first 
principles of farming, and entire disregard of their inter- 
ests by the greedy Government. Russia eats a third as 
much as Germany pro rata. Unless he owns his land, 
the peasant has no vote in national affairs, and there are 
few enough able to buy the lands only just opened to 
them. The Tsar, who is called by some a mild man, more 
kindly than cruelly disposed, is very fond of dictating 
messages to his ' children,' indicating his solicitude for 
their welfare. 

" He has a personal income so stupendous that no one 
can estimate it. The amount is never publicly announced 
in the State budget, of course. But he owns millions of 
square miles of forest lands, and Siberian mines which 
yield precious stones and metals. Much of his money 
he banks abroad. During a recent visit to Sweden, he 



264 Honeymooning in Russia 

spent in one morning 200,000 rubles for antiques and ob- 
jets d'art. He loves his dear starving peasants, he poses 
as their ' little father.' What does he do for them per- 
sonally, with the preposterously huge income at his own 
command? Does he buy them modern ploughs so that 
their pitiful acreage may be properly cultivated? Does 
he send trained agriculturists among the peasants to show 
them how to fertilise and care for their land? There are 
provinces in Russia where the farmers never have enough 
to eat, who by springtime, are invariably reduced to ac- 
tual starvation as terrible as the famines of India which 
arouse the nations perhaps once in a decade. With their 
primitive implements they cannot cultivate the land so it 
will produce enough to feed them. Their ploughs do not 
make furrows deep enough to cover the seeds. When the 
rains come, half the seed rots. Or if the weather is dry, 
the seed blows away or is carried off by the birds. Rus- 
sia is a nation of agriculturists — who know nothing 
about farming. The soil is fallow exceeding that of any 
soil elsewhere known. The acreage is two and a half times 
that of the United States. The summers are hot, and 
the grain which is grown, is of the highest grade. With 
instruction, and with a little aid in securing the most or- 
dinary modern implements, the muzhik could produce 
bumper crops, but under the fi paternal ' administration 
of the Government, the Russian farmer is the most ab- 
jectly wretched creature depending on the soil for his 
existence." 

" But would the muzhik improve such advantages if 
they were offered him? " 

" Ah," sighed Petrovsky, " we know well the faults of 
the muzhik. He is not deserving of all sympathy. He 



The Widow Kirsanov's Lodgers 265 

is slothful; he has no initiative; he is dishonest; he is too 
easily satisfied, perhaps. A loaf of bread and a bottle 
of vodka are too apt to be his measure of happiness. 
Above all, he is a Slav of the purest type. Lethargic, 
kind, generous, lacking in moral restraint and in perse- 
verance, improvident — but never small in his nature — 
that is our peasant." 

" Not very encouraging material ! " 

" No, but what shall we expect of a creature primitive 
in his passions, handicapped by racial slothfulness, and 
kept in darkness almost as dense as that of the early 
ages when Russia was first settled by the Slavi, a Pagan, 
unmoral race. He has slaved to pour untold wealth into 
the laps of the reigning families and their dissolute fol- 
lowers, without reward. Do you think oppression can 
breed manliness and moral vigour? Over three hundred 
years ago Russ emperors formed a corner on commodi- 
ties to extort bread-money from the commoner. As far 
back as that they invented ingenious schemes to fraudu- 
lently increase their incomes. Ivan Vasilovitch, a Tsar 
of the sixteenth century, retorted, when chided as to his 
practices : 6 My people are like my beard, the of tener 
shaven the thicker will it grow.' Since his time there has 
been scarcely a single ruler whose attitude toward his sub- 
jects has not been the same. An English envoy said, 
of conditions in 1588 : ' The fault is rather in the prac- 
tise of their nobility that engrosse it than in the countrie 
itself.' 

" Those words are just as true under the rule of Nich- 
olas II as they were under Ivan the Terrible in the bar- 
baric years of the sixteenth century. We have no nation 
— merely a bureaucracy which, through love of power, 



266 Honeymooning in Russia 

and still more through love of money, strangles, squeezes, 
tortures a people too ignorant, as yet, to assert them- 
selves." 

" Has there been nothing at all to better the peo- 
ple through all these centuries ? " 

" There has been a slight advance in educational fa- 
cilities, as the result of the demands of a partially awak- 
ened race. About 4,000,000 children are now enrolled in 
Russian schools. Their parents never had a book in their 
hands. This new craving for education is the best au- 
gury for the future. In these days, only ignorance tol- 
erates absolute monarchy. fi Intelligence is the enemy of 
tyranny.' When the Russian muzhik can read, he will 
shake off his chains." 

"What percentage of the peasant class is illiterate?" 
I asked. 

" About ninety per cent, can neither read nor write. 
Worse than that, twenty-eight per cent, of the Orthodox 
priests who essay to lead the people scholastically, as 
well as spiritually, are unable to decipher the books from 
which they pretend to teach. Nine-tenths of Russia's 
160,000,000 are on the verge of barbarity. Though a 
true son of my country, I have to confess it." 

" What has your party done to help Russia — prac- 
tically, I mean? " 

" The Revolutionary Socialist party has accomplished 
little beyond a feeble awakening of the peasantry. Some 
of our number teach in the summer and we have valued 
aids in the men and women who work during the winter 
in city factories, and return in the summer to the vil- 
lages, converts to the reforms promulgated by the Prog- 
ressists. My countrymen begin to understand their 



The Widow Kirsanov's Lodgers 267 

wrongs. The first step has been accomplished. The Ad- 
ministration is more and more powerless to compel un- 
questioned obedience. The attitude of the peasants has 
changed in the past three years. They are less afraid of 
the soldiery, and are more indifferent to the threats of 
the police. But otherwise, the revolutionary movement is 
a failure. It has resulted in more terrible atrocities on 
the part of the Government. We have gone back to the 
days of half a generation ago. The prisons are crowded 
beyond their capacity. Sentences of death, torture and 
exile are pronounced for minor crimes, and insignificant 
offences. Men are arrested and sentenced without know- 
ing with what they are charged. Russia is under mili- 
tary rule. The Third Section is omnipotent. Its aim 
is to frighten and coerce the nation into passive sub- 
servience to the wishes of the Tsar and court, to whom 
the condition of their pocketbooks is of more conse- 
quence than the happiness and prosperity of the king- 
dom, or the respect of the civilised world. The Emperor 
is the patron of the Black Hundred — an organisation 
who call themselves ' The Men of Russia.' They are the 
hoodlums, the roughs of the cities, who serve the 
police for reward. During riots, incited by themselves 
oftentimes, they have the right to plunder and assault 
undisturbed. A portion of their spoils is shared with their 
superiors, the Political Police and officials of the depart- 
ments or bureaus. The Tsar, or those about him, are 
often the instigators of pogroms, in which hundreds of 
Jews and peasants are abused and robbed. This Tsar 
has an especial animosity towards the Jew and the Finn. 
He has personally commended his minions for persecu- 
ting these, for the most part inoffensive, people. The 



268 Honeymooning in Russia 

Jews are commercially aggressive — the Slavs are not. 
The Jews have monopolised certain trades. In many 
parts of the * pale ' they are the merchants. If the Jew 
was not suppressed and oppressed he would own the na- 
tion. Therefore — riots, massacres, restrictive laws, 
fines, religious intolerance. The Jew is not a fighter. 
Left to himself, he is not a disturber of the peace. But 
if he sees his women attacked and maltreated under the 
most heinous conditions, he will resist the bestial maraud- 
ers, who are often sent into a community to stir up 
trouble so that an excuse may be offered to kill and pil- 
lage. The Jew will endure an injury affecting his purse, 
his freedom, his convenience, but he will fight for the 
rights of his family and his church. The Russian Gov- 
ernment allows no synagogue to be built in a community 
of less than eight hundred Jews, and no meeting-place in 
a town of less than five hundred. An educated Jew, and 
there are very few so fortunate as to have a university 
education, may go about freely in any part of the 
country. He may live in the cities unmolested. But the 
great majority of Jews are confined within the iron ring 
of the pale, which embraces most of the west and south- 
west. Even there he is hampered by laws which con- 
stantly change and which are made to harass him almost 
beyond endurance." 

" What about the Finns? " 

" The subjection of Finland is the pet project of Nich- 
olas II. His father was the Finns' champion — he him- 
self has urged their subordination ever since he came to 
the throne. The reason is a strategic one. He needs 
Finland's rock of Sveaborg as a naval base, since his other 
Baltic defences are out-of-date. To that end he instructs 



: ''".-.. ,•*, '" : "" - : '■ ' 







/'/ 









a^a£ 



Villas Over-hanging the Shore 



The Widow Kirsanov's Lodgers 269 

his ministers and officials to reduce the Finns to a state of 
compulsory loyalty. The Finns are more Scandinavian 
than Slavic. They detest everything Russian. In char- 
acter and temperament they are the antithesis of the Slav. 
They are stalwart, truthful, intelligent and self-respect- 
ing. Their enforced Russification by this Tsar is an out- 
rage." 

" The Revolutionists killed Bobrikov, governor of Fin- 
land." 

" Yes, he was a tyrant after the ideal of our Emperor. 
We used to hope the nation would benefit from the re- 
moval of men like him. On the contrary, even more re- 
pressive measures are in force. Blood flows, but it is 
the blood of the innocent. The Revolution is conquered 
— we do not know for how long. The Government's mil- 
itary strength is too much for us. We are worse than 
powerless. We who are exiled suffer to little pur- 
pose." 

" But the world believes Russia on the highway to re- 
generation because the people have been granted the 
right to elect a congress — a duma. What has that 
amounted to ? " 

" Almost nothing. It was a hoax perpetrated by the 
Tsar — a sop which he threw to subjects enraged at 
being forced into an unpopular and unnecessary war, 
a subterfuge to distract the public mind from thoughts of 
revolution. The war was welcomed for a similar reason 
. . . but instead of enlisting patriotism, it inflamed 
the peasantry against the Government still more. The 
soldiers took up arms unwillingly, mutinously. Some 
have confessed that they courted defeat to chagrin those 
who had driven them into battle. They did not know 



270 Honeymooning in Russia 

for what they were fighting. And indeed the war was 
only another instance of the nation's being bled for the 
enrichment of a few. The Grand Duke Alexander, the 
ex-Viceroy Alexeiev and General Bezobrazov, or General 
Ugly if you translate his name into English, got Korean 
concessions from the Grand Duke's cousin which they 
cultivated for purely personal profit. Certain interna- 
tional entanglements which resulted brought on the war 
with its appalling losses." Petrovsky lay with his arms 
under his head, as with unstudied eloquence he touched 
upon one vital topic after another. When I asked him 
to tell us something of the organisation of the Revolution- 
ists, he said : " Our head occupies a very important 
chair in one of the universities. The executive commit- 
tee is composed of twelve Russian professors, teaching 
for the most part in German universities near the fron- 
tier. 

" The head of the expatriated Revolutionists is Prince 
Kropatkin, as you probably know. He was once a pris- 
oner in the Petropaulovski fortress, but escaped to Paris. 
There is a Central Committee and a Fighting Organisa- 
tion, besides sub-committees assigned to special service. 
One of my closest friends was stationed not long ago in 
Switzerland to watch for the possible appearance there of 
the traitor Eugene Azev, condemned to die for his double- 
dealing with our party and the Political Police. Each 
thought him loyal to the interests they represented. 

" But assassination is not the primary purpose of the 
Revolutionary Socialists. There is a growing feeling 
that Russia's salvation will eventually come, not from 
within, but from without. My comrades abroad now 
seek to inform other nations of the atrocities practised 



The Widow Kirsanov's Lodgers 271 

in Russia. I believe that is the greatest work we have 
to do. 

" Some day the world will call a halt. Until then, 
conditions will not be bettered. Oppression has too long 
been the policy of our rulers. It is in the blood. They 
will not enlighten the people if to do so will cost them 
their throne and the perquisites it entails. 

" Where will you find another nation that has so abused 
its men of great intellect? What other nation would not 
have honoured, rather than exiled, Turgenev, most won- 
derfully endowed of all Russian novelists. His Govern- 
ment rewarded his gifts by imprisonment, and banish- 
ment to his estate. When he died, his friends were not 
permitted to eulogise him over his casket, flowers were 
forbidden, likewise any sort of procession to the grave. 
He was buried like a convict. His crime consisted in 
having a great mind and an appealing pen. He was a 
dangerous man in a kingdom where an attempt is made 
to shut out every ray of intellectual light. Gogol, the 
Russian Dickens, was also banished for a time. At the 
recent celebration of his centenary in Moscow when a 
statue was dedicated to him, he was honoured by the peo- 
ple, it is true. Those outside Russia honour him also, but 
his own Government hated him. Why? Because he 
was eminent, one of the most powerful portrayers 
of life known. Georg Brandes said : ' In the works of 
Gogol, Russia has outstripped the rest of Europe. 
It is only in Ibsen's dramas that Europe has attained to 
the heights of Gogol.' He was born not far from Pol- 
tava. I have a picture of his birth-cottage near Janow- 
stina. If you would like to have it, I will give it to you." 

" We should be delighted. We saw the new statue in 



272 Honeymooning in Russia 

Moscow. It is very fine. Around the pedestal are bas 
reliefs illustrative of his characters." 

" Yes, I have read about it. For the unveiling, a. 
grand-stand was erected, but was found to be unsafe, so 
another, and still another was built. But at the moment 
when the people would have crowded into the seats the 
third one was also found to be so badly constructed that 
after all, everyone had to stand." 

" I suppose the contractor hadn't enough money to 
make a good grand-stand after he had paid out the 
necessary bribes to the police," Phil ventured. 

" You are becoming sophisticated in the ways of the 
Russians, Mr. Houghton." Petrovsky's eyes lighted with 
amusement. 

" May we hear more of Russian litterateurs ? I groan 
at my ignorance." 

" The literature of no other European nation is so 
little known abroad. Perhaps it would interest you to 
know how Gogol died. He became, toward the end of 
his life, a religious fanatic. He would pray for hours 
at a time before a shrine. One day he was found life- 
less in the street before a sacred painting. He had liter- 
ally starved to death, as his ardour was so great he had 
forgotten even food. It is a striking fact that most of 
our poets and novelists have been Little Russians. For 
the past generation it has been forbidden them to use 
their own language in writing. This is done, of course, 
to humiliate and discourage a people of unusual natural 
graces, and of a totally different temper from their north- 
ern neighbours. Gogol was a son of Malo Russie, as were 
Puschkin and his friend, Lermontov. The latter came 
originally from a Scotch family named Learmont. Ban- 



The Widow Kirsanov's Lodgers 273 

ished and persecuted in life, they were both killed in 
duels. Puschkin was led unjustly into an affair with an 
unprincipled Baron who died abroad in 1895. But for 
him, our most illustrious poet might still have been alive. 

" Shevchenko, another Little Russian, was twice whipped 
and sent to Siberia. Korolenko, a modern singer 
of the south, lives in Poltava. I have seen him riding his 
bicycle in the streets — a tall, grey-bearded man with an 
almost inspired face. Alexis Tolstoi, the Walter Scott 
of this country, as Puschkin was the Bj r ron, is not to be 
confounded with Count Leo Tolstoi, whose 6 Anna Kar- 
enina ' has been called the greatest of all novels. Dostoi- 
evsky's novels of prison life, written from his own expe- 
rience, are Russian classics. Of the other poets, there 
are Kozlov, Nadson, Koltsov, Nekrassov. The latter's 
' Red-Nosed Frost ' is an epic." 

"That's the one you know, isn't it Philip? You said 
a part of it that day in Vologda." 

" I know a little of it. It gave me my first real notion 
of the Russian peasantry. I wish you would recite one 
or two of your especial favourites. Joyce and I would 
enjoy it immensely." 

" Well, I like Lermontov's ' Circassian Song,' for one. 
That's not very long. I'll say that if it would give you 
pleasure. I know a good English translation, for I used 
to teach it to an English boy I tutored one year. 

"'With fair maids our mountains teem; 
In their dark eyes star-sparks gleam; 
Life with them may envied be, 
Sweeter still is liberty! 

Never take a wife, lad, 
To my words give heed; 



274 Honeymooning in Russia 

Save your money up, lad, 
To buy yourself a steed! 

He who takes a wife, too late 

Finds he chose a sorry fate. 

No more 'gainst Russian foes he'll fight ! 

Why? — lest his wife should weep with fright! 

Never take a wife, lad, 
To my words give heed; 
Save your money up, lad, 
To buy yourself a steed! 

He has no inconstant mood, 
Bears you well through fire and flood, 
Sweeps the wild steppe like the wind, 
Brings far things near — leaves all behind.' 

— 'And then the same chorus over again," said the 
reader, breaking off. " Hasn't it a swing as wild as the 
Circassian hills? " 

" Circassian " reminded us of our experience in Nizhni, 
which we had never confided to anyone. We told Pe- 
trovsky about it, and he looked so grave we concluded 
we had not underestimated the danger of our position in 
the Oriental tea-garden on the banks of the Oka. 

" One more poem," begged Phil. " Do you know 6 The 
Wreck ' ? " 

" Kozlov's ' Wreck ' ? That is one of the poems every 
Russian knows." 

The fire of " The Circassian Song " had swept him to 
his feet. Now he stood leaning slightly forward, his ex- 
pressive eyes reflecting the pure sentiment of the words : 

" ' The day in a purple flush had died, 
And I, with bitter thoughts at heart, 
Lulled by the murmur of the tide, 
Upon the sea-shore walked apart. 



The Widow Kirsanov's Lodgers 275 

There lay, bereft of mast and sail, 
A shattered ship, half-sunk in sand, 
That seething waves in some past gale 
Had cast upon this lonely strand. 

Long since, the moistening dews and showers 
Had sealed with moss each starting plank, 
And in the crevices grew flowers, 
With knots of sea-grass, pale and rank. 

Storm-driven on this rock-girt coast, 
From whence and whither bound was she? 
In that wild hour when she was lost 
Who shared her hopeless destiny? 

The silent depths, the silent waves, 
The secret of their depths withhold; 
Only the evening sunlight mocks 
Th' abandoned hulk with gleams of gold. 

The fisher's wife sits on the prow 
With eyes that search the distant seas; 
She waits and watches, singing low 
A song which mingles with the breeze; 

And close to her a little boy, 

With tangled locks of flaxen hair, 

Laughs aloud, and leaps the waves with joy, 

His curls all ruffled by the air. 

He plucks the tender blooms that grow 
Where the sparse tufts of sea-grass wave. 
Dear happy child, how should he know 
His flowers are gathered from a grave ! ' " 

His vibrant voice fell in tender cadence. " Exquisite," 
I sighed. 

" You would like ' The Mower ' by Koltsov, and Nad- 
son's ' Wherefore,' but I know those only in the orig- 
inal. ..." 



276 Honeymooning in Russia 

" Give us one of Turgenev's Prose Poems," suggested 
Philip. 

" Very well — < The Beggar.' . . . 

" ' I was walking in the street — a beggar stopped me 
— a frail old man. His inflamed, tearful eyes, blue lips, 
rough rags, disgusting sores . . . oh, how horribly 
poverty had disfigured the unhappy creature! He 
stretched out to me his red, swollen, filthy hand — he 
groaned and whimpered for alms. I felt in all my pock- 
ets — no purse, watch or handkerchief did I find. I had 
left them all at home. The beggar waited . . . 
and his outstretched hand twitched and trembled slightly. 
Embarrassed and confused, I seized his dirty hand and 
pressed it — " Don't be vexed with me, brother ; I have 
nothing with me, brother." The beggar raised his blood- 
shot eyes to mine; his blue lips smiled, and he returned 
the pressure of my chilled fingers. " Never mind, 
brother," stammered he ; " thank you for this — this, 
too, was a gift, brother." I felt that I too had received 
a gift from my brother.' 

" Turgenev was the master of all Russians in style, but 
he acknowledged that he and the others were pupils of 
Gogol in realism. 

" ' We are all descended from Gogol's " Cloak," ' he 
said. ' The Cloak,' you know, is one of Gogol's earliest 
masterpieces. 

" Here is a good bit of description from Nezhdanov — 
' With a glass of spirit in thy hand, with thy head lean- 
ing against the north pole, with feet pressed against the 
Caucasus, oh, Fatherland! Thus thou sleepest, Holy 
Russia, deeply, and soundly, and steadily.' Depressingly 



The Widow Kirsanov's Lodgers 277 

graphic, is it not? What will the world say to a nation 
which does nothing to arouse the sleeper — but rather 
seeks to keep him asleep and drunk with ignorance? " 

In the afternoon, we walked to the Cossack quarters on 
the edge of the town. A square of earth tracked with 
horse-hoofs, was bounded on three sides by white bar- 
racks, at the moment deserted except for a few invalided 
soldiers, and an attendant who was exercising a cavalry- 
horse with a bandaged knee. 

" The troop have assembled for manoeuvres," said 
Michael, as we heard the shouts of officers and the an- 
swering ring of arms. We straggled across the parade- 
ground, and a rush of pounding hoofs swept towards us 
like a thunderous hurricane. I stood confused in the 
path of the savage whirlwind of men and horses. With- 
out drawing rein, they came plunging down upon me. I 
took a step. . . . My hand went to my eyes. . . . 
I lost the power to move. . . . Then I felt strong 
arms go around me and heard Phil crying, " My God, 
Joyce, I didn't see, I wasn't looking ! " He dragged me 
to one side. The flying sand stung our faces. Down the 
field charged the troopers, standing in their stirrups with 
spears aloft, and shouting to their galloping horses. I 
lay quite unnerved against Phil's shoulder, while he whis- 
pered over and over, " We didn't see, dear ; we were look- 
ing up the field. We didn't see the brutes almost on 
you." 

"And not one of them pulled in," I laughed hyster- 
ically. " Not one was going to stop ! " Michael was so 
upset by the averted tragedy that he proposed our return- 
ing to the barracks while he ran for a waggon to take me 



278 Honeymooning in Russia 

back to the cottage. But I had no intention of missing 
so splendid a show, and in a few minutes was ready to 
forget how nearly I had been ignominiously trampled to 
death. At the other side of the field, the horsemen 
wheeled, leaped to the ground, then sprang upright to 
the backs of their charging animals. As one man they 
tore by us in summer uniforms of white, belted over dark 
trousers, and with boots to their knees. Their rakish 
caps topped the thick hair of their race with an inde- 
scribable jauntiness. A barbarous yell came from their 
wide-open mouths, and their keen eyes flashed with that 
brutish lust for wanton war which makes them the dar- 
lings of the Tsar. Half of them acknowledge the Tsar's 
son as their Chief Hetman. They are the official mur- 
derers of the Empire. Of the imperial whip, the Gov- 
ernment is the handle — the Cossacks the lash. These 
500,000 cavalrymen, born to rob and maim, are the 
corner-stone of the dynasty. Without their support, 
the monarchy could not be maintained. In return for 
their murderous obedience, they are held as the especial 
wards of their sovereign. They are better paid and cared 
for than other divisions of the army. They scorn the 
common soldiery. Their ancestry is Circassian, Greek, 
Turkish, and Slavonic. They are bred to shoot, to ride, 
to despise emotion, and, above all, to disregard suffering 
— even in their own ranks. At the behest of their ruler, 
they crush a mob, shoot into a crowd of peaceful work- 
men, assault and torture women. It is their trade, their 
vocation. If they did not give this kind of service, they 
would be of no more use to the autocracy than any other 
branch of the army. They are paid especially well to 
execute the most brutal of the Tsar's commands, and they 




pq 




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X 

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The Widow Kirsanov's Lodgers 279 

earn their wage with a zeal which keeps him ever in 
their debt. 

The manoeuvres over, the troopers walked their horses 
in double file past our vantage-point back to the stables. 
Hand on hip, each man sat with arrogant grace, his 
bridle-hand holding a loose rein above the neck of a Cir- 
cassian steed equal to an Arabian in fire and form. 

"Last month," said Michael on our way back to the 
town, " a Jewish cabinet-maker was expelled from Arm- 
insk because he had not bribed the constable as gener- 
ously as his neighbours. He stole back to get some tools 
he had forgotten. When the uriadnik heard of it, he 
reported it to the ispravnik, the police chief of the dis- 
trict. A day later, a dozen Cossacks galloped into the 
Jewish quarter. The man himself had gotten away 
again, but that did not matter. They dragged out other 
Jews and flogged them instead of the man they had been 
sent to find. Before they were done, there was a pogrom 
— a riot and a massacre. Ah, they would rather kill 
than ride, these Kazaks — and to ride is their life." We 
walked on silently until we came to the square and saw 
our smiling acquaintance, the merchant, standing be- 
fore the inn. He was not the merchant only, but the 
inn-keeper, the vodka-seller, the banker, and the mort- 
gage broker of the town. As in the south with our 
negroes, the peasant's labour is often mortgaged a year 
or more in advance. He is in debt to the store-keeper 
for food and clothes, and still more for brandy. It is 
not long before the merchant owns his body, his earning 
capacity, also. Or, if the muzhik owns a strip of land 
the merchant has a lien on that, or on the product of the 
tract. 



280 Honeymooning in Russia 

" Sold for vodka," is the label pinned on many a 
worthless back. 

Each " soul," as a male citizen is designated, is al- 
lotted a share of the communal land proportionate to the 
number of large or small mouths he must feed. If he is 
on good terms with the heads of the mir, or village par- 
liament, he may receive several strips close together. If 
he has been so unfortunate as to incur their enmity, his 
land will probably be far from his izba, and much time 
will be consumed in going to and fro. As co-operation 
is one of the distinguishing traits of the Russian muzhik's 
existence, so he prefers to dwell in little communities. 
There are comparatively few isolated farms, and conse- 
quently a vast tillage is uncultivated. 

The square was enlivened to-day by a peasant fair, 
so dear to a muzhik. Carts were piled with produce, and 
with rolls of linen, brought in from smaller villages. 
The stalls of cheap trinkets were well patronised, and a 
fakir performing obvious tricks received favourable no- 
tice. Some cream-coloured cattle were tied to the rear 
of a telega. At their feet a brawny farmer sprawled 
with his fellows, drinking tea. The women invariably 
had their heads tied up in pointed kerchiefs, and were 
bare-footed. The head-kerchief is the descendant of 
the veil, worn before Peter the First's modernising de- 
crees. 

" Have you bought all you need for your journey? " 
Phil asked Michael. 

" Not quite all, Gospodin. The kupets has sent to 
Poltava for a suit of clothes like the Jews wear." 

" I can advance you a week's pay if it would be a con- 



The Widow Kirsanov's Lodgers 281 

h 

" No, you are kind. I have a little money in the 

bank." 

" Then when your clothes come, you will be ready to 
go? I think we shall be off by to-morrow night or Fri- 
day." 

" Pardon me, you are wise not to stay much longer. 
If you did, it might be suspected that the Americans had 
really come, not to buy embroideries, but — to see my 
mother's lodger." 

" I had thought of that, but we have a plausible rea- 
son for remaining another day or so, since you, our 
courier, have not yet completed your arrangements." 

" It will be hard — saying good-bye." Michael's face 
saddened. • 

" Hard for all of us," I assented. 

" You mean saying good-bye to Roman. Ah," look- 
ing quickly about, " if he could go too — away from 
here — out of Russia ! " 

" That was what we hoped to accomplish by coming 
here," Phil answered under his breath. 

Michael started. " You have found a way, then ? " 

" No, we have talked with him. He says there is no 
way." We looked up and saw Petrovsky within the shel- 
ter of the curtains. Happy, in his arms, gave a little 
wiggle of delight at sight of us, and he smiled. 

" Poor fellow ! He will be lonely without you, Mi- 
chael." 

" If only he could go too ! " repeated the widow's son, 
as we opened the door and went in. " Here he is noth- 
ing, but outside Russia, what could he not accomplish! 
He knows languages; he is so great, so wise! There is 
no one in our party more capable." 



282 Honeymooning in Russia 

" You are a Revolutionist? " 

" I am Petrovsky's pupil. All these months I have 
sat at his feet, and every day I have learned to love and 
believe in him more." Tears stood in his eyes. " To 
see him suffer and grow weaker — to know that only 
freedom can make him strong again, and that he may die 
before that comes — ! " His hands were clenched at 
his side, his chin unlifted. " If," brokenly, " I only 
could do something to save him ! " He straightened with 
a sudden emotion. His eyes started and his lips fell 
apart. For a moment he stood transfixed. Then — 
" Gospodin, I — will go out — into the air." He lifted 
the latch and went down the step. " I will come back. 
Please tell my mother — I will come back to-night." 

We gazed at each other, perplexed. It was not like 
Michael, this erratic behaviour. 

Petrovsky came to the stairs. " Your little dog is 
much company for me," he said as we went up. " When 
I am sad, she understands. Always she is in my mood." 

" Would it comfort you to have her for your own? I 
will give her to you." My voice shook a bit. " There 
is not much we can do for you." 

Petrovsky nodded. " Now I know the depth of your 
friendship for me!" 

" But I mean it," I persisted stoutly. " You may 
have her if she would help in your loneliness." 

" No, Mrs. Houghton." He looked down at me. 
" But I shall like to remember that you not only came 
out of your way to see me, but would even have given me 
— your little dog ! " 

" Really — " I began, but Petrovsky only shook his head. 



The Widow Kirsanov's Lodgers 283 

Shall I confess it? As I gathered up the black-eyed 
bundle, I had the heart to be glad she was still mine. 
And when, later, my husband pulled me close and whis- 
pered, "Good jena!" I felt almost a hypocrite. 

We sat about the supper-table. It was seven o'clock. 
Michael had not come back. When we gave the mother 
his message, we had suppressed the manner of his exit, 
but a dozen times she looked anxiously out the window. 
She spoke to Petrovsky. 

"Did Michael say where he was going?" he trans- 
lated. 

" No, he went towards the forest. He will be back 
soon, I am sure." 

" Please tell her not to worry," I added. She tried 
to take comfort from our assurances, but she could not 
control the unsteadiness of her fingers as she drew the 
tea and waited upon us. A peculiarly tender tie bound 
her to her son. She had been left by her husband with 
her babe unborn. The boy had never known a father. 
As no word had ever come from him, they supposed him 
dead. Patience and self-forgetfulness had beautified a 
face which must otherwise have been plain. As the latch 
was raised, her eyes leaped with anticipation. It was 
Michael — an erect, changed Michael who opened the outer 
door and strode across the room. 

" I have found a way," he said exultantly. His face 
shone with the radiance of inspiration. " I have found 
a way," he reiterated with an expression of ineffable joy. 
" Roman," he cried softly, stretching out his arms, his 
eyes burning with the fires of self-denial, " you shall have 
my passport ! " Slowly Petrovsky looked from Michael 



284 Honeymooning in Russia 

to us and back again to the figure standing opposite. 
The mother rose to close the window. 

" What is it, Michael? " asked the exile, his wan face 
perplexed. " What is it you say ? " 

" You shall take my passport, and go with the Gos- 
podin as his courier. I have planned it - — " 

" And you ? " inquired Petrovsky indulgently, as if 
questioning a fanciful child. " Will they give you an- 
other passport ? " 

" Perhaps," replied the boy, " I shall not need an- 
other." 

The exile laughed mirthlessly. " Is there then a new 
law in Russia ? " 

" No, there is not a new law, but I know how to fix it. 
I have been thinking. Believe me." 

" Ah, dear Michael, and would you do this for me? " 
With a lingering affection he looked upon the face of 
the youth whose tall, determined figure steadfastly con- 
fronted him. " You would give your liberty for mine ! " 

" It is not my liberty for yours. I shall go free also." 

The mother gazed at her child, unable to understand 
the words which had so affected us. She regarded him 
wistfully, then looked toward Petrovsky with an un- 
spoken question. In their own mellow tongue he told her 
what Michael had proposed. Her serene eyes turned to 
her son in silent dismay. " Michael ! " she breathed. 
He spoke rapidly to her, comforting her, begging her to 
hear him through, explaining, so his gestures told us, 
what he had planned as he tramped the forest, and what 
his plans would mean for the prisoner. 

And all the time Petrovsky sat sadly shaking his 



The Widow Kirsanov's Lodgers 285 

head. " Poor boy, he has lost his reason ! " I heard him 
exclaim. 

But, as Michael told his story, his mother listened 
eagerly and her very being seemed to pulsate with the 
magnetism of his words. She turned to the sick man, 
and joined in her son's supplication with an ardour as 
appealing as his own. She reasoned with him, she en- 
treated, she implored. She laid hold of his hands, plead- 
ing with agitation as Petrovsky continued to gaze at 
them compassionately and with a tender melancholy. 

My heart bounded with renewed hope. If they per- 
suaded him — we should not need to send bad news to 
Liuba! Surely he could not gainsay two so zealous for 
his happiness, so unmindful of themselves. 

Phil sat staring across his folded arms. His eyes 
never left the face of his friend, prisoner of the Tsar. 

As they continued to press their arguments upon him, 
his brows lowered and he contemplated mother and son 
with darkening eyes. Rising to his feet, he pushed back 
his chair. " Will they never desist ! " he cried in an- 
guish. "Do they think I can forever be calm? Liberty 
for me?" he laughed satirically. "I go free? Do you 
know what they have been saying? " He turned to us. 
" Michael tells me I shall go with you in his garb as 
the courier Kirsanov; that you will take me on your 
journey to Sevastopol. That there, I shall board a 
steamer for Constantinople, and that once in Constanti- 
nople — I may roam the world — a free man ! I — " he 
jeered, " a free man, with the police at my heels, and the 
noose tightening at every step! Here, in Arminsk, I 
have liberty to live at least unharassed. I walk in the 



286 Honeymooning in Russia 

streets, I visit my peasants, I have enough to eat. But," 
he bantered, " Michael would convince me that rather 
than content myself here, it were better to try to escape 
— to stumble into a yawning dungeon door, and there 
to mortify, waiting for release; that for me, existence in 
the village of Arminsk is not so agreeable as to battle 
for life in a Siberian mine! You, Michael," he twitted, 
pointing a derisive finger, " perhaps the widow Kirsa- 
nov's house is so ill a place in which to die, you would 
recommend me to find a way to the gallows, instead ! " 
His eyes were glazed, his voice was terrible in its sub- 
dued intensity. " A free man ! Outside my village 
prison, I should be free — to seek — my — doom ! " he 
jested mockingly. 

A step sounded under the window. "Who's that?" 
he muttered. We listened breathlessly. Michael stole to 
the window. It was only the village herder driving home 
the cows. " Just the pastuch," Michael told him. 
" Ah — ! " as he drew the back of his hand across his 
moistened forehead. Michael sprang to him and would 
have helped him to a chair, but Roman thrust out an 
arm and pushed him back. " Don't think," he went on 
in a voice thickened with emotion, " don't think I am in- 
sensate. I realise what you offer. Beyond the grasp of 
Russia, what powers are mine, I could exert for my 
countrymen. My pen would exhort the world to bring 
down the curtain on the tragedy of despotism; it would 
advertise the deception of the nations, the hoodwinking 
of envoys, the distortion of statistics, the suppression of 
skeletons, starved and massacred by famine and pogrom. 
Turkey has come under the ban of Europe ; the Congo's 
atrocities are investigated. When Europe and America 



The Widow Kirsanov's Lodgers 287 

understand how much more iniquitous is Russian rule than 
Turkish and Belgian, they will not sit passive. . . . 

" And you will venture nothing to apprise the nations 
— you with your talents and gift of tongues are idling 
away your life in the shadow of the Third Section 1 Pe- 
trovsky," cried Phil, as he stood up, " don't let this 
chance go by ! Michael says he has found a way. Do 
not close your ears, but listen to him, not for your own 
sake — but for the sake of your countrymen ! " 

" And for the sake of Liuba! " I pleaded. " At Shulov 
she is waiting for word that you have escaped to a place 
where she can meet you and where you can call her — 
your wife ! " 

Petrovsky groaned and staggered. " My God ! I had 
forgotten ; in my obstinacy I had forgotten ! Liuba - — 
my wife ! " Groping, he stumbled to a seat. His head 
lay on his arms across the chair-back as he moaned over 
and over the name that had undone him. 

" Go on with your plan," I whispered to Michael, per- 
ceiving the advantage of the moment. " How will you 
account for Roman's absence after we have gone ? " 

The boy leaned towards us across the littered table. 
" Everyone knows Roman is ill. Last week the vratch 
himself came and said he must not go out alone. Very 
well. They know also that I am going away as inter- 
preter with you. I have applied for my passport per- 
mitting me, if necessary, to go across the border. 
This passport describes me as tall — I am Roman's 
height ; as dark-skinned — I am but a little darker than 
Roman ; as twenty-four — Roman is twenty-seven ; as 
smooth-shaven — Roman shall shave his moustache. 
To-morrow my clothes will come from Poltava — Roman 



288 Honeymooning in Russia 

shall wear tliem. The train from Ekaterinoslav connects 
with the Moscow-Sevastopol express at Sinelnikovo on the 
main line. There is no train from here which reaches 
Ekaterinoslav in time to meet the branch train. So 
much the better. . . . To-morrow night I will get 
my passport and yours from the police. I will go to 
the traktir and bid good-bye to my friends. . . . 
Michael Kirsanov is going for a long journey 
drink another glass of vodka with him! I will go even 
to the shrine in the church that people may see me saying 
a prayer for a safe journey. It will not be sacrilege. 
And I shall not forget to tell everyone how ill my moth- 
er's lodger is — that he cannot any longer sit up at the 
window, or see even the apothecary. I will order a 
covered tarantass. In it, three passengers will leave this 
house before dawn to drive eleven miles to Ekaterino- 
slav. Who will know Roman Petrovsky from Michael 
Kirsanov? When, twelve hours later, you are in Sevasto- 
pol, who, still, will know him? And when he is landed 
from the steamer in Constantinople — " his voice 
thrilled us, " what matter if the whole world recognises 
him as Petrovsky, the exile and escaped prisoner ! " 

"A journey bravely planned! You have left uncov- 
ered but one point." Petrovsky raised his head. " One 
vital point. What would you do, Michael, after we had 
gone? " 

" Don't you see? I should remain in your room, in 
bed if necessary, until you had had time to cross to Tur- 
key. Little good it would do the police to discover your 
absence, then ! " 

" Dear, impractical boy ! And when they did find it 
out, you would still remain in my room and be taken 



The Widow Kirsanov's Lodgers 289 

in my stead? Do you think I would go at the sacrifice 
of your life and your mother's? They would shoot you 
to death for treason if you aided my escape." 

" I do not care what you say," obdurately. " I know 
a way to save my mother and myself. I have thought 
of everything. She will trust me." 

" Tell me how you have planned it." 

Michael's face grew stern. " I cannot tell you. I am 
not a child. When I say I know how to save myself, you 
must not question it." 

" Very well, Michael. Then I will not go. I should 
be a coward to escape at your peril. Until you tell me 
your plan, we will forget the subject." Petrovsky 
turned wearily towards the door. " Good-night, my 
friends." 

" Wait! 'I called Michael, " wait, Roman. If I tell you 
the part about my mother, will that do? " 

Roman came slowly back. " Well, tell me that 
then." 

" My mother will stay here a few days after you go. 
Then a telegram will call her to Posen. I will write one 
of her sisters to send for her, pretending they need her 
in sickness. With my mother in Prussia, my part is 
easy, believe me." 

" I do not believe you, Michael." 

" Ah, Roman, you are making it hard. I cannot tell 
you more, and yet — if you knew, you would say it was 
a safe way. I am strong and young ..." His 
eyes implored. " Can't you trust me, my comrade ? " 
He bent to reply to his mother as she touched his blouse. 

The exile's gaze sought ours, and he made a gesture 
of despair. " There is no use. I cannot let him suffer 



290 Honeymooning in Russia 

for me. He is but a boy — and rash. I could not trust 
his discretion much as I love and admire his zeal." 

" Why not ? " Phil questioned. " You say he has a 
good mind. Reward him by your confidence. We will 
leave him some of the funds sent Liuba to aid her com- 
rades." 

" But suppose his plan went awry. How could I bear 
the thought that our happiness, Liuba's and mine, was 
bought at the price of — well, let us say his freedom 
only." 

" I have faith in Michael's assurances," I maintained. 
" He is not an ordinary boy. But suppose he were taken 
— would his punishment be any harder to endure than 
yours? He is a Revolutionist also. You would resent 
a comrade's interference in what you believed your duty. 
His mother will be comfortably established in Posen with 
her sisters. He will have no entanglements ... he 
can save himself. But if — and I do not believe in the 
possibility of this if — he should not succeed in getting 
out of the country, isn't your freedom of more value to 
your country than his, and would he not exult in the 
chance of serving Russia by freeing you even at the cost 
of his life?" 

Petrovsky sat with his chin on his folded hands, look- 
ing into the dusk, for it was not yet quite dark. For a 
long time no one spoke. Michael stood by his mother's 
chair, watching with painful fervour the face of his hero. 
His mother laid her cheek to his broad palm, caressingly. 
Gradually, peace stole upon us in the twilight. Without 
turning his head, Petrovsky reached a hand towards Mi- 
chael, who took it in silence. At last, i( Michael, my com- 
rade ! " Petrovsky murmured, and raised his eyes. With 



The Widow Kirsanov's Lodgers 291 

a cry of ecstasy, the boy knelt at the exile's knee, and 
there rushed from his fervid lips the resonant syllables of 
their dramatic language. Petrovsky lifted the inspired 
face and, very slowly, laid his lips to Michael's forehead. 
When the youth arose, he was as one deified. He kissed 
his mother, who cried a little over him and over the vic- 
tory he had won. Phil put out his hand. " Petrovsky," 
he began, hoarsely, but could get no further. I was 
weeping for joy at thought of Liuba. 



$ tjj c£j 



Chapter XVI 

COMRADES OF A REVOLUTIONIST 

EkATERINOSLAV, City of Catherine, lay hours be- 
hind us. On either side, the sombre steppes reached to 
the horizon. There had been light rains during the 
night, but still, above the occasional hillocks, there hung 
a dusty haze. Water was glistening in pools, and thirsty 
herds came to drink at stavoks which yesterday were 
only dry basins on the prairie's surface. The September 
rains had tinted the parched waste a katy-did green. 
Thistles were growing in purple disorder, and so tall that 
they cast long jagged shadows. A rising wind swept to- 
ward us clouds of scurrying wind-witch weed. Acres of 
wild tulip and mignonette succeeded leagues of black- 
ened steppe, not long since licked clean of its wheat- 
fields, by tongues of flame. At the whistle of the loco- 
motive, bevies of earth-hares darted to their burrows. 
Outside the high palings of farm-houses swarmed dogs, 
which, though half -wolf , are more keen to kill a wolf than 
their better-bred brothers. The lark, the eagle, the vul- 
ture, the bustard, wing the heights above the steppes. 
Locusts sometimes darken the sky with their legions, and 
toads spring up after rains to carpet the earth. 

Flocks of fat-tailed sheep browse near the roving 
waggon of the Tatar tshabawn. On this limitless battle- 
ground, horses contend with wolves, while the herds- 
man in leather kaftan and hooded cloak rides furiously 
to the assault, hurling his wolf-club and wielding the 



Comrades of a Revolutionist 293 

thonged harabnik. Each wolf in Russia consumes an- 
nually about four head of cattle, sheep, or dogs. Also 
each year one human being is killed to every pack of a 
hundred. 

We crossed a bridge which spans the straights of Eni- 
kaleh, where the muddy and nearly fresh water of the 
Sea of Azov marries the sluggish flow of the Putrid Sea. 
We had reached the steppes of the Crimea. A hot wind 
blew from the west across salt-marshes and boundless 
pasture-lands. In a corner of the compartment sat 
Petrovsky. Since we had boarded the train in the misty 
hours of early morning, he had scarcely spoken. His 
face was expressionless, his mind seemed blank. Except 
for a ceaseless movement of his hands, he sat in an ap- 
parent stupor. He declined food or wine. His eyes 
were dull, and fixed for the most part on his restless 
fingers. Occasionally, his lips moved. The suppressed 
excitement of our leave-taking, the racking drive from 
Arminsk had exhausted him. As the Moscow train ap- 
proached Sinelnikovo, his efforts at control had been 
pitiable; but the lethargy which followed frightened us 
lest it should threaten the safety of our undertaking. 
Furthermore, we realised the impossibility of his going 
alone to Constantinople unless he could free himself from 
the pall which enveloped him. So we sat, in silence and 
suspense. 

But as the hours drew on, reaction came, and his 
worn body revived somewhat. I heard him whisper 
" Liuba ! " and a smile played about his mouth. The sun 
threw off its cloud-veil, and a ray fell on the strip of red 
carpet. His face brightened. We crossed the stream 
which divides the depressing plains of the north and west 



294 Honeymooning in Russia 

from the paradise of the lower Crimea. For the first 
time, the landscape interested him. . . . He looked 
out at the smiling meadows of the river Salghir, and 
commented on the increasing beauty of the scene. 
Fruit-trees and poplars marked the path of the stream, 
creeping with summer sloth beneath ruined walls of Ta- 
tar villages. It sauntered through gardens and or- 
chards, at the foot of green slopes and precipitous cliffs 
to the door of the ancient city, called by the Tatars " The 
White Mosque," but known to more prosaic times as 
Simpheropol, the " Gathering-place " of races. 

The train paused at the station. An Armenian fruit- 
seller raised to the level of our open window, his tray 
of nectarines, apricots, plums, apples, and grapes, which 
proved to be not so grateful to the palate as to the eye. 
A pair of Nogai' Tatars, vain of their upturned Mongo- 
lian eyes and flat noses, promenaded the platform, in- 
different to our scrutiny. Young Russian women in 
summer muslins chatted with uniformed gallants, not so 
engrossed by the fascinations of their own countrywomen 
as to ignore the vivacious charms of Tatar girls veiled 
to their eyes in the filmy fereedje. Their little red boots 
twinkled in and out beneath skirt-hems and overhanging 
drawers. The contrasting civilisation of West and East 
was symbolised by the vehicles which crowded the sandy 
space about the station. A two-horse drosky touched 
hubs with a cart drawn by double-humped camels, which 
had seized the moment to take a siesta while their Crim 
driver gaped at the smart equipage of a Government 
official come to welcome an arriving guest. From his 
secluded corner, Petrovsky watched the picture with 
growing animation. His blood seemed to quicken, and 



Comrades of a Revolutionist 295 

by degrees he shook off the cloak of melancholy and ex- 
haustion which had fallen upon him. 

He spoke of the historical interest of the peninsula, 
known to the world for twenty-four centuries; of the 
excavations near Simpheropol which have established the 
existence of fortifications built by the Scythians before 
Christ; of the disastrous battle fought between the al- 
lies and Russia near the station of Alma through which 
we passed. Alma is the Tatar word for apple. Acres 
of apple orchards give this village its name. 

At Bakshisarai, a newly-married couple descended. 
Their blissful state was disclosed not only by their con- 
scious attitude, but by the raising of a parasol which 
showered hops on the head of the bride. Petrovsky 
laughed softly with us at their efforts to appear indiffer- 
ent to the amusing incident, as they climbed with dig- 
nity into an ecru-topped vehicle to drive, doubtless, to 
the Khan's palace where lovers of romance may put up 
for the night under the royal roof of ancient Crim Ta- 
tar rulers. 

" It is a favourite wedding-j ourney for Russian young 
people," said Petrovsky. " There are plenty of senti- 
mental excursions to be taken to caves, fortresses, and 
deserted villages in the hills near Mangup. My pupil, 
the English boy, came here on his — hone}mioon, you 
call it?" He sat up and aroused the sleeping Happy, 
who drowsily resisted his efforts to play with her. 

Cliffs and catacombed rocks guard the famous little 
town of Inkerman, known to Russians not only as a bat- 
tle-field, but because of its monastery cut out of rock, 
which stands close to the railway tracks. A mosque- 
like entrance leads directly into the cliff. Above it, 



296 Honeymooning in Russia 

quaint windows open from the rock walls. A monk 
stepped through a latticed door into a balcony. In def- 
erence to a holy painting over the arch he crossed him- 
self perfunctorily as he stood in flowing black, watching 
the train crawl away to the south. 

" We shall soon be in Sevastopol." Phil closed his 
watch and began to gather up our belongings. We ap- 
proached the Crimean port which, soon after Russian 
occupancy in 1784, was fortified to Catherine the Great's 
order with stones taken from the dead city of Kherson- 
esus, an important town five centuries before Christ, 
on the site of which Vladimir, Russia's first Christian 
prince, was baptised. 

The strain of the past hours became almost unbear- 
able. I watched Roman anxiously, praying that he 
might control his now very apparent agitation before 
the moment came for us to leave the seclusion of our 
compartment for the thronged station and busy streets 
of a big city. If the suspicious glance of a political spy 
should recognise in our companion the student leader 
who once had eluded the Petersburgh police, we should 
all be taken. . . . Further than that we had not the 
courage to imagine our lot. A nausea of suspense swept 
over me. I jumped at the sound of the guard's key 
in the lock of the door. Phil was pulling at straps and 
snapping locks with nervous vigour. As the station came 
in view, he whispered : " You stay here, while I go for 
some porters. Keep back from the windows of course. 
It will be better to let the crowd dwindle a bit before 
we go through the station." He partly closed the door 
and went out. Porters rushed back and forth in the cor- 
ridor. . . . Friends wept and laughed demonstra- 



Comrades of a Revolutionist 297 

tivcly at the arrival of, to us, quite uninteresting in- 
dividuals. . . . Once a trainman peered in 
minutes passed . . . Philip came at last. " It's 
alright, dear," as my eyes questioned. " I was trying 
to find a closed carriage, but they are all these basket 
phaeton, umbrella top affairs. I am sorry. Shall we go 
now? " Petrovsky got bravely to his feet, and steadied 
himself with a noble effort. Porters shouldered our 
luggage. We made our way quickly — and safely — 
to the carriage. " Wetzel's," said Phil to the cabman. 
Slowly our two horses mounted the hill to the town. 
Shade trees made the heat endurable when we were once on 
the summit. The hotel, set amid shrubs, and with a 
tinkling fountain in front, offered a cool refuge from 
the burning streets, and from the fancied scrutiny of 
every passerby. We made our companion comfortable 
in a room adjoining ours. So far as we knew, the 
journey was successfully accomplished. We could only 
pray that by this time to-morrow, things would be as 
well with us. . . • 

The town, piled like a citadel, street above street, sur- 
veys the hills, the fortifications and the shipping of the 
harbour. We sat at our windows after dinner contem- 
plating the beautiful scene before us. 

" The Euxine ! " I murmured. 

" My highway to liberty." Petrovsky closed his eyes 
and smiled. 

" Strange — " mused Phil, " we look at a map and 
read the names of cities and seas. They signify nothing 
to us at the moment; and yet some day those indifferent 
letters may spell a story in our own lives so vital we 
cannot understand why the very names projected no 



298 Honeymooning in Russia 

clairvoyant picture for us in other days. The Black 
Sea! Sevastopol! Here we sit waiting for a ship, just 
an everyday ship, which to us is a glorious aid to free- 
dom!" 

In the grey silence of the room our thoughts sped to 
Shulov, and to Arminsk. By to-morrow, Liuba should 
have the telegram sent in cipher an hour ago. In four 
days her lover would be in Paris. Perhaps she would be 
awaiting him there ! 

Michael's mother would soon leave for Posen, having 
announced that she had engaged a neighbour to care for 
her sick lodger. And Michael? We did not know where 
Michael would be to-morrow . . .or the next day 
. . . or the next. . . . 

We turned from anxious thoughts of him to talk of 
our meeting in Paris, where Roman and Liuba should 
greet us as husband and wife; and of future visitations 
between Paris and London, when the conversation would 
often dwell upon days at Shulov and Arminsk. At last, 
we said good-night, Petrovsky gripping our hands in 
voiceless gratitude — we clinging to his with stifled pray- 
ers for the sure achievement of his goal. 

Twenty-four hours later, we sat alone looking on the 
same view of hill and sea. The ship from Odessa had 
entered and cleared. From her after-deck, a passenger 
listed as Michael Kirsanov had waved us a cautious fare- 
well. 

We had spent a restless day driving to the Monastery 
of St. George crowning the promontory of Cape Parth- 
enike, and to the village of Balaclava, where we made an 
unsuccessful effort to submerge suspense in historical 
reminiscence, We had stood on the muddy shores of the 



Comrades of a Revolutionist 299 

hill-bound bay, through whose cork-screw mouth twisted 
the prow of the British relief ship, Agamemnon. 
Outside the town we had mounted the rise of ground 
charged by Scarlett's Light Brigade. We had tried to 
bring back the stirring picture by reciting to each 
other what snatches we recalled of the Tennyson poem. 
But the imagery of reckless troopers was less distinctly 
limned on the mental canvas than the face of a rapturous 
girl, and the lines of a vanishing ship. 

On our return from the long, hot drive we went into 
the Museum near the hotel, and made an attempt to in- 
terest ourselves in the portraits and ship models which 
recall the heroic days of the siege. The farm-house, 
where died Lord Raglan, Commander-in-Chief of the 
British; the French and English cemeteries; the Redan 
fortifications ; the monuments — we saw them all pains- 
takingly. But our craving for proscribed " tours " was 
dulled ; the glamour of the Unusual had lost its piquancy. 
Two jaded tourists climbed into a carriage on a sul- 
try September morning. We had lingered in Sevastopol 
hoping for a cable from Roman, which he had promised 
to send upon his arrival, if possible. No word had come. 
We set out on the road to Yalta with heavy hearts. 

Our steamer trunks and my gay peasant chest were 
strapped on the rack at the rear of the chaise. From 
Yalta we should take a steamer direct to Odessa. The 
landscape was attuned to our mood . . . dull, 
brown, dejected. "Supposing — supposing — " the car- 
riage wheels creaked. Supposing a spy on the dock had 
recognised the features of the escaping exile; supposing 
he had telegraphed the steamer's agents to detain him on 
board the ship of the Russian Steam Navigation Com- 



300 Honeymooning in Russia 

pany; supposing Liuba should go on to Paris and Pe- 
trovsky should not come. Supposing he were ill, and, 
though safe, alone in a strange room, needing friends. 
" Supposing — supposing — ■" the chaise wheels 
creaked. 

Suddenly, our driver-guide lifted his whip and pointed 
to cragged hilltops: we were on the threshold of the Cri- 
mean Paradise — the Tauric Arcadia — realm of sea- 
side mountains ; of trickling brooks ; of ravishing valleys ; 
of forests and mossy springs ; of steep descent and per- 
ilous climb ; of gleaming roads, and mountain inns, and 
villages clinging to vine-draped cliffs; of Russian palace 
and Tatar hut; of fig-tree and plum, olive and pine; 
of time-eaten mosques and tombs of porphyry. Through 
the valley of the Baidar and up a shady slope our long- 
tailed horses climbed to the summit where the arched 
gate of Baidar commands the sea. The driver unhitched 
his horses and ran to a sprawling inn for a samovar. 

He came back with a melon under one arm and a 
basket of walnuts under the other. We opened the ham- 
per brought from the hotel in Sevastopol. With the 
dark blue sea at our feet, we sipped the pure wine of the 
Crimea and munched caviar sandwiches, while the cocher 
brewed tea and fed his equine trio. " After all, what is 
the use of worrying? " Phil gazed across the water to- 
wards the City of Constantine. " i Silence is golden ' — 
' no news is good news,' " he quoted prosaically. " It 
isn't reasonable to think Roman is in the grip of the 
police just because no cablegram has come. Some Turk 
operator may be to blame — or a Russian messenger-boy. 
Let's be optimists . . . the scenery is great . . . 
the weather's clearing . . . Roman is on the train 



Comrades of a Revolutionist 301 

for Paris. Eh, Joyce? " It was impossible to be down- 
cast amid such uplifting scenes. Phil's reviving spirits 
inspired me. As we rumbled down into another valley 
our mood was more receptive. Nature, as if to dis- 
tract us from anxious fears, spread her beauties prodi- 
gally before us. Naked masses of limestone were screened 
with cypress and oak. Castellated cliifs sentinelled val- 
ley and sea. We had reached a summer-land never chilled 
by frost. At the old post-station of Kikineis, a glimpse 
of Happy brought a flock of dark-skinned urchins about 
the chaise, and they held up their hands and clamoured 
for her as she stood with her paws on the seat-back, ears 
pointed and tongue out. Their fathers were lolling un- 
der the earth roofs of their shacks, slender mountaineers 
with red-blond beards and unnaturally high foreheads. 

Little villages were strung along the highway like 
beads on a string: rough beads of Tatar make, with glints 
of Eastern reds and yellows. 

The Genoese who established themselves on this coast 
of the Black Sea at the time their countryman, Colum- 
bus, was crossing to find America, left a fortress near the 
hamlet of Limen as a monument to their former sover- 
eignty over the Tatar. To-day it surveys a riot of 
natural forces symbolic of the human warfare once 
waged among these mountains. Upheaved rocks and 
volcanic terraces go tumbling down to the sea, and un- 
canny shapes leer at the traveller like the gargoyles of 
Notre Dame. 

The road to Alupka through the valley of Cimiez, so 
fair that " here one forgets the beauties of Switzerland," 
winds by the sea-washed gardens of the estate once owned 
by Prince Woronzov, former governor of Russia's south- 



302 Honeymooning in Russia 

eastern provinces. The half-Moorish, half-English pal- 
ace is made of porphyry quarried from the crater of a 
dead volcano. Pools of trout, fountains, orange-trees 
and rose gardens lie on a plateau with a background of 
mountain verdure. The village of Alupka itself is a 
haven for invalids, an expensive haven, it is true, but 
one much in favour with well-to-do Russians. Between 
Alupka and Yalta, the Russian Newport in point of 
fashion, the drive constantly recalls the south coast of 
Italy. The soil yields the pomegranate, the juniper, the 
fig and the low-spreading olive. The villas of royalty 
and nobility look coquettishly from their screens of 
shrubbery like pretty women from behind their veils. 
And always there is the sea at their feet. There is a 
bijou estate which was originally built by that ancestor 
of Count Serge de Witte who came from Holland. It 
neighbours the entrancing village, Orianda, where the First 
Alexander dreamed, for once, to good purpose. Among 
the rocks and recesses of the sea-coast he grew the vine 
of the grape, and built himself a retreat. The red pal- 
ace at Livadia is the Crimean home of the present im- 
perial family. The lawns and terraces, ornamented with 
flowers and statuary, border the post-road on either side. 
Vineyards, groves and gardens yield sweet odours of grape 
and pine, lily and rose. Beyond Yalta lies the most 
beautiful estate in the Crimea — the Upper Massandra. 
The imperial vineyards near by give a wine of rare bou- 
quet. 

We spent the night at the Hotel de Russie, in Yalta, 
where the service and appointments were quite commen- 
surate with the exorbitant tariff. We were the only 
Anglo-Saxon guests ; indeed, few tourists other than Rus- 



Comrades of a Revolutionist 303 

sian find their way to the Crimea. It is one of the 
rarely delightful nooks of the earth where the " tripper," 
in the American acceptance of the word, has not pene- 
trated. Yalta is a resort of the Russians, for the Rus- 
sians. 

The voices of gypsy singers in a near-by garden res- 
taurant droned us off to sleep. Beneath our windows, 
the surf boomed all night long. The brilliance and 
warmth of South Italy was in the morning sun. Moored 
off shore was the white yacht of a Grand Duke, lording 
it grandly over the flock of lesser craft which hovered 
near like fawning favourites. The beach was festive with 
bathing men and maidens whose gay laughter carried 
above the rush of the waves. Mammas and grandmam- 
mas, in more or less unbecoming attire, chaperoned their 
bright-eyed charges from the sands. Many of the mer- 
maids wore white bathing dresses, sustaining the motive 
which prevails in this glittering City of Frivolity. The 
gaunt mountain which crowds the town to the edge of 
the water, scorns disapprovingly its giddy footstool, 
and lifts its haughty head to vistas of valleys and hills 
reaching beyond the yailas and craigs of Gurzuv to the 
vineyards of Alushta on the east coast. 

Bound for Odessa, our steamer turned its back upon 
laughing Yalta. We rounded the southerly curve of the 
peninsula, studded with scenic jewels — royal parks, villas 
overhanging the shore, gloomy cypresses, fragrant gar- 
dens, precipitous slopes, cloud-topped mountains. Be- 
fore dark we were at Sevastopol. Passengers disem- 
barked, and embarked. Once more the ship's black nose 
pointed out to sea, and turned northwest towards the un- 
Russian commercial capital of the Empire. 



304 Honeymooning in Russia 

We had an excellent dinner in the luxurious salon, 
and went early to our pleasant cabin to sleep away the 
night hours of our Black Sea voyage. Two young men 
were smoking by the deck-rail as we emerged from our 
morning tea. They were students, we knew, from their 
modest uniforms and caps. They offered Phil a light 
for his post-breakfast cigarette. He asked some trivial 
tourist's question. They were agreeably communi- 
cative. In a few moments we were chatting convivially. 
They were students of law at Odessa University, and 
brothers. The younger was tall, with a handsome dark 
face. They had been the previous summer to New York 
to visit a brother employed there in a steamship office, 
and were childishly pleased to meet Americans travelling 
in their country. " And Russia — has it interested 
you?" the elder asked. We responded enthusiastically, 
and they both smiled with gratification. " Ah, but 
America is better ! " they sighed. 

" Then why do you stay in Russia? " 

" We are finishing our law course. Of what use would 
the Russian code be in America? And besides, there is 
much to love in our own country. Its natural resources 
are the richest in the world; it has the largest rivers, 
the best soil, the greatest area. Its mines and forests 
are inexhaustible. And yet — Do you know our poet, 
Nekrassov? He says: 'You are indigent while you 
possess plenty; you are mighty and yet powerless, you 
little Mother Russia!'" 

A white mist dimmed the city as we crept prudently 
into the harbour at half-speed. The Turks' name for 
Odessa is " The Merchant Prince." Its earliest history 
is associated with commerce. Since the third century, 



Comrades of a Revolutionist 305 

trading Slavs, Genoese, Poles, Greeks, Turks and Alban- 
ians have had settlements on these northern shores of the 
Euxine, called the " Black " Sea because ignorant naviga- 
tors thought it treacherous. The Russian Odessa was 
founded by Catherine the Great. Though the fourth in 
population, it is the first city of Russia in point of trade, 
principally because of the fact that it is the shipping- 
port for the Black-Earth country. 

" You will almost forget that you are in Russia until 
you leave Odessa," said the brother who walked at my 
side as we ascended the celebrated steps leading from 
the steamer landing to the Nikolaievsky Boulevard. The 
statue which welcomed us with hand outstretched commem- 
orates the French Due de Richelieu who emigrated to 
Russia when he found revolutionised France too demo- 
cratic to suit his tastes, and who became the city's first 
governor. The statue is superfluous: the progressive, 
clean, well-paved metropolis of the South is his monu- 
ment. Clouds and a damp, chilling wind contrasted de- 
pressingly with the sunshine of the Crimean coast. But 
the sun came in the afternoon, and, with it, our mannerly 
ship acquaintances who had volunteered to show us about 
their city. The streets resembled those of a German 
rather than a Russian town. Though the population 
of 500,000 is half Slavonic, it is the foreign half which 
gives to this port its thriving aspect. 

" Otherwise," remarked the elder brother, Furstman, 
" how do you account for the superior sanitation, the 
unusual number of schools and colleges, and the well- 
lighted avenues? " They exhibited with a great deal of 
pride the handsome modern buildings of the University of 
New Russia, successor to the Richelieu Lyceum. The 



306 Honeymooning in Russia 

president is a political prisoner, on parole. The students 
are proverbially revolutionary in their sympathies, and, 
indeed, Odessa as a city is the bete noir of the Govern- 
ment. Rebellion is in the atmosphere. Prince K. had 
told us of a friend who was for six tumultuous months 
manager at Odessa of the Russian Steam Navigation 
Company, owner of more steamers than any firm in the 
Empire. His life was so persistently threatened by dis- 
gruntled workmen that the mail which did not bring him 
a menacing letter was an agreeable exception. He sent 
his wife and three children back to Petersburgh, but 
stayed on himself, determined to down the animosity if 
possible. He did not sleep two successive nights under 
the same roof, staying one night at his club, the next at 
a friend's house, or at a hotel. He was a mild, kindly- 
disposed man and thought it impossible that he should 
be for long the victim of unreasonable hostility. But 
matters did not mend and the strain began to affect his 
health. Finally he had to resign the position. A few 
days later, the man who took his place was murdered by 
the company's employes, who, according to Russian 
standards at least, were well-paid and considerately 
treated. 

Everyone remembers the comic opera mutiny of a few 
years ago which had its beginning in the death, by an 
officer's hand, of a midshipman who complained of the 
ship-fare. The officers of the Kniaz Potemkin, the 
locale of the farce, found themselves characteristically 
incapable of mastering the situation and took to the 
boats. The sailors, intoxicated by their easy victory, 
celebrated by bombarding Odessa. The exploding shells 
fired warehouses and docks, and terror reigned. Under 




p3 

< 

a 
a 

H 

w 
W 



Comrades of a Revolutionist 307 

cover of their cannonading, the mutineers made off with the 
cruiser. But a few days later they were led back by the 
ear like naughty and very hungry truants, to take their 
bitter punishment. 

As we drove along the wide boulevards, past the fine 
Public Library, the shady cathedral square, the beauti- 
fully proportioned theatre, our young students told us 
about the riots of October, 1906, when dead bodies were 
carted through the streets by the waggon-load. Business 
was suspended; innocent citizens were at the mercy of the 
Cossacks; mothers saw their babies dismembered and were 
themselves struck down as they knelt moaning in the 
streets. We drove to the brothers' lodgings in the rue 
Richelieu so that they might show us some photo- 
graphs which they had taken during the massacre. In 
one, a bearded Jew with a plaintive face, walked beside 
a rough cart and its white-covered load: perhaps one of 
the bodies under the sheet belonged to a child of his. 
The ghastly procession was guarded by soldiers ; their 
bayonets had, the previous day, been turned against the 
living creatures whose cadavers they escorted ceremoni- 
ously to their graves. 

Said the elder brother, " The Government takes ad- 
vantage of the national hatred of the Jew to rouse the 
Slavs to some kind of concerted feeling, and to unite 
minds disaffected by the tyranny of the bureaucracy. 
The Jew is often the butt, the scape-goat. He is black- 
mailed by officials, secure in the knowledge that they will 
not be molested so long as it is a Jew who is baited. 
When he does not or cannot give as much as is demanded 
he is falsely accused and forthwith punished for a crime 
of which he is innocent. His family is broken up and 



308 Honeymooning in Russia 

his business ruined. He must pay well to exist in even 
tolerable peace and comfort. The Russian Jew is the 
most atrociously mistreated creature on earth." 

" I presume he would have more sympathy from for- 
eign nations if he were not cursed by the fact that he is 
a Jew, and that often he is dirty and grasping. That is 
not an altruistic attitude, I confess." 

" There is a Semitic sect which even a Slav respects 
— they are the Karaims or Karaites. They are a noble 
people, upright, fair in their dealings, well-formed and 
featured, and of a kindly nature. They accept the Scrip- 
tures literally, rejecting the interpretation of the rabbis. 
The rabbi of Choufut Kale, a fortress near Bakshisarai 
in the Crimea, is their spiritual chief. In the ' Valley of 
Jehosaphat ' near by it is the ambition of every Karaite 
to be laid at rest, just as the Chinaman yearns to sleep 
with his fathers, no matter how far he may have strayed 
from his native land." 

Everywhere we drove and walked we met Italians, 
Greeks, Germans, and Armenians. They were the mer- 
chants and bankers of the prosperous city; to the Rus- 
sians have been left the more menial occupations. 

In accordance with common custom among hotel pro- 
prietors in Russia, our Odessa host attempted to exagger- 
ate the police charge for passport registration, which, 
after being victimised once or twice, we had discovered 
to be, legally, but twenty kopeks. The fee as" charged 
on our various hotel bills usually ranged from five to 
fifteen rubles. It was always Philip's parting duty to 
explain the " mistake " to an apologetic manager or pro- 
prietor. The Jewish inn-keeper at Odessa assumed a 
distressed expression and rubbed his hands abjectly when 



Comrades of a Revolutionist 309 

apprised of his clerk's error. An array of hitherto un- 
seen servants, almost as impressive as that which con- 
fronts one at the Berlin " Bristol," flanked our exit. 
By a night train we left the least characteristic city of 
Russia for the one most typical of all — Kiev, Cradle of 
the Empire. 

The first-class compartments were all engaged. Our 
student friends consoled us by saying we should rest al- 
most as well in a second-class reservation at about half 
the price. Nowhere is railway travel so cheap as in 
Russia. There are three, sometimes four classes, dis- 
tinguished on the outside by the colour of the cars. 

When we were ready to go to bed, the trainman-of-all- 
work pulled out the back of our double seats, thereby 
creating a second-story ledge for some late-comer. A 
chintz curtain was hung in a crude effort to foster mod- 
esty; the windows were tightly closed; with the bringing 
of two pillows, for which we paid extra, the night arrange- 
ments were complete. 

As usual, we were aroused at exasperatingly frequent 
intervals to humour the demands of numerous relays of 
master conductors and inspectors. About one o'clock, 
Philip, who had already had several wordless conten- 
tions concerning the raising of the window, awoke and 
sat up in disgust. For the fourth time the guard had 
thwarted his desire for ventilation, and someone climbing 
onto the upper shelf had planted a well-booted foot upon 
his shoulder. I glanced up from the couch opposite. A 
smartly attired captain was divesting himself of sword 
and spurs and folding his heavy coat for a pillow, pre- 
paratory to composing himself to rest. Phil stealthily 
opened the window, and again we dozed. Perhaps an 



310 Honeymooning in Russia 

hour later, a lantern flashed in our faces. The trainman 
shook the sleeping officer and remonstrated with him. 
He had no sleeping-check, we gathered from the gestur- 
ing . . . therefore he must surrender his narrow 
bed and betake himself to the smoking-car. He arose 
with unexpected tractability, belted on his sword, fas- 
tened his spurs anew, shook out his coat and descended, 
politely apologising for disturbing us for the second time. 
Amidst the fumes of pipes and cigarettes he propped him- 
self uncomfortably against a side-post and meekly made 
the best of an affair which would have inflamed to pro- 
testation anyone but a Slav. 

There was a great crowd at Kazatin. A miracle ikon 
was being returned to one of the sixty churches of the 
Russian Jerusalem. From the demonstration on the 
platform the presence of the holy painting had been at- 
tended by gratifying recoveries. The priestly escort 
was ladened with combs of honey and tinsel flowers, and 
there was much bowing and kissing and crossing as the 
ikon was brought into the car and placed on a seat op- 
posite us, where it rode in state the rest of the way to 
Kiev. 

Kiev's hotels are too new to be in the picture. The 
tall business buildings of recent architecture are in 
modern contrast to its churches and catacombs. Its leg- 
endary history goes back to St. Andrew, who is said to 
have planted a cross on one of its three hills, and to have 
prophesied that one day a city should rise on the high 
banks of the Dnieper. Three Polish brothers laid the 
foundation for the fulfilment of this prophecy, and gave 
to the infant town the name of the elder brother, Kii. 
Later years saw contests between Norman knights and 



Comrades of a Revolutionist 311 

the Norman son and grandson of the founder of the Rurik 
dynasty, first established at Novgorod. For seven cen- 
turies, the descendants of this warrior were the monarchs 
of Russia. 

Following the internecine conflicts at Novgorod, Kiev 
became the capital of the second Empire, and was for three 
hundred years the prize for which ambitious princes 
fought. In succession to Novgorod and Kiev, Vladimir, 
Moscow and Petersburgh became the capitals of the mon- 
archy. 

The Prince Vladimir, who ruled Kiev in the tenth cen- 
tury thrust the Christian religion upon a heathen people 
as a matter of policy, for he wished to unite his sub- 
jects under one faith. He decided not to become a Mo- 
hammedan since he did not wish to give up his wine ; he 
considered the possibility of turning Jew, but changed 
his mind when he was told that the Jews were under a 
curse. As some of his merchants brought back enthusi- 
astic accounts of the rich ceremonial of the churches in 
Constantinople, he investigated the Byzantine religion, 
and enamoured of subsequent reports, was forthwith 
baptised and demanded the baptism of all his king- 
dom. Those who refused to put on a new faith as 
they would a new coat, were esteemed enemies of the 
Empire. 

Priests, monks, and metropolitans were imported to in- 
struct the nation in the lessons of Christianity, and, in 
place of idols, ikons were set up in new temples dedicated 
to one instead of many gods. 

The people learned these lessons by rote when the 
Greek Orthodox Church was first established in Russia 
■ — they know them only by rote to-day. They are still 



312 Honeymooning in Russia 

pagans; ritual is their god; ikons are their idols. De- 
votion to the forms of the Church is fostered by the Gov- 
ernment for the same politic reason which actuated Vlad- 
imir to compel conversion. The Church is the unifying 
influence of the Empire. Its priests are Government 
agents. Their sermons are censored to exclude indis- 
creet teachings which might enlighten their parishioners. 
The village popes are encouraged to decree extra holy 
days to increase the consumption of vodka, and receive 
a commission from the Government on the sales. 

Senator Beveridge asserts in his " Russian Advance " 
that the adherents of the " True Faith " are moved to ob- 
serve the exacting rites of their church by heart-impulse. 
He says he was so apprised by Russians in exalted po- 
sitions. The Senator from Indiana while in Russia was 
the guest of officials who feted and frequently misinformed 
him. A bureaucrat, so any honest Russian will tell you, 
is the last personage from whom to expect reliable intel- 
ligence. He is schooled in misrepresentation. 

Stolypin, " the most two-faced statesman in Europe," 
is a past master at fooling the world. He announces, 
for instance, that twelve thousand political prisoners have 
recently been exiled, whereas the actual police records 
show that seventy thousand is nearer the correct number. 
He depreciates the prevailing terrors of famines and si- 
lences the news of massacres. 

One reading the Beveridge book grows quite optimistic 
concerning Russian affairs. The condition of the peas- 
ants is encouraging . . . they are buying American 
farm implements extensively . . . their children — 
4,000,000 out of 160,000,000 inhabitants — are being 
taught in new and comfortable school buildings. , . , 



Comrades of a Revolutionist 313 

The Government is the patron of its farmers and artisans. 
Things are looking up for Russia — if you read 
" The Russian Advance." It is this distortion of facts 
which has for so long deceived the nations. 

We drove in the afternoon to the American Consulate 
to get our mail. As we wended our way back through 
the Podol, the business and residential quarter which lies 
between the hills and the river, we opened our letters one 
by one. Home seemed further away here than in modern 
Petersburgh. In the Russian Mecca, the monastic walls 
of her holiest shrine looked down upon us, and a mediaeval 
fortress recalled days when invaders came down the Dnie- 
per in boats, or advanced across the plains bent upon 
conquest. Despite the glaring newness of some of its 
buildings, we received everywhere the impression of an- 
tiquity which distinguishes Kiev. 

There was a letter from Jerry, a hilariously joyful 
one. Cicely, unable to keep her own secret, had written 
them that she and her mother would reach Warsaw about 
September seventeenth. He would arrive there the pre- 
vious day from Petersburgh, and he begged that we meet 
him at the Hotel Bristol. " She shall never go back as 
Cicely Hazard, so prepare to serve as best man and 
matron-of-honour ! " 

" Do you suppose he means it? " 

" He wouldn't be the Jerry we know if he didn't." 

" But what will Cicely's mother say? " 

" It is just possible, Philip, that Cicely's mother may 
already have a suspicion that, after this meeting, her 
services as chaperone may not be required. Mothers 
have a way of guessing." 

(t Yours didn't" 



314 Honeymooning in Russia 

" You didn't yourself." 

" Neither did you." 

" Well — ■ I knew you would sometime." 

" Sometime what? " 

" Propose. Your eyes told me so before you knew it 
yourself." 

" Then you should have confided in me so I could have 
asked you sooner." 

" The waiting was too sweet." 

" Sweeter than the realisation? " 

" No, silly, nothing could be sweeter than that — or 
this." 

Our stout little horse had mounted the steep hill to the 
church of Andrew the Apostle, and, leaving the drosky 
below, we had climbed the parapet which surveys the great 
bridge, the endless steppes, the river flowing at the foot 
of the leafy Podol, the monasteries, the bastions of the 
fort. When we went down again, the isvostchik smiled 
so broadly at us that I wondered whether he had seen 
Philip when he kissed me. 

Within the ancient earth-works of the city stands the 
comparatively small church of St. Sophia, one of the first 
Orthodox cathedrals built in Russia. Though it has of- 
ten been remodelled and repaired, much of the original 
edifice remains. It was finished during the reign of 
Vladimir's son, Yaroslav, in 1037. Its mosaics and fres- 
coes are the pride of Russia and the wonder of archaeolo- 
gists. In a chapel is the tomb of Yaroslav himself. The 
most beautifully decorated church in the Empire is the 
one dedicated to the canonised Vladimir. The paintings 
are by modern artists as the church was inaugurated by 
the present Tsar in 1.896, though begun thirty years be- 



Comrades of a Revolutionist 315 

fore. The mural ornamentation, the bronzes and the 
massive altar vessels are all superb. 

We slept that night in a plain but very clean room in 
the lavra inn, under the same roof with possibly two hun- 
dred pilgrims. In the morning, a monk brought us tea 
and accepted our offering for the night's accommodation. 

In the bake-house near by, other brothers were making 
and selling holy wafers of assorted sizes. A modern 
printing press was operated by monk printers who an- 
nually bring into the lavra treasury over a hundred thou- 
sand rubles. The pamphlets and hymn-books published 
at the Pechorsky Monastyr are in especial demand by the 
faithful. We followed the devout procession of pilgrims 
up an avenue, lined with cells, to the Cathedral of the As- 
cension of the Mother of God. Like nearly everyone else, 
we had bought a large round wafer. Upon it we wrote 
the names of three friends for whom we wished to ask a 
blessing, and kneeling for a moment with the ragged 
throng, we asked their safe-keeping wherever they might 
be. 

A quarter of a million pilgrims annually visit this lavra. 
Spring and summer are the most popular seasons, but 
hundreds come every week until late fall. We had seen 
them from the railway trudging along the roads to Kiev; 
some had come from the uttermost corners of the Empire, 
having begged enough to keep them from perishing on 
the way. For three days they may stay free of expense 
in the lavra inn. By the payment of a small sum they 
may remain three weeks longer. 

We stood outside the church to watch the parade of 
zealots going up and down the steps. Those who had 
come to be cured had prayed before the renowned miracle 



316 Honeymooning in Russia 

ikon of the Death of the Mother of God, which is painted 
on cypress and sparkles with diamonds in the candle- 
light. Some who had entered on crutches were making a 
brave effort to walk now without limping. Many were 
weeping with joy, believing themselves to have been cured 
of their ills. A mother held her sick baby close, her face 
alive with hope, for had she not pressed the mite's cheek 
to the ikon's glass covering while she prayed for its re- 
covery? The tattered multitude passing into the church 
looked into the uplifted countenances of those crowding 
to the fresh air, and went forward with intensified faith 
believing they, too, would be healed. 

We entered the catacombs with the pilgrims, each 
carrying a lighted taper through a high narrow passage. 
Here lie the saints who founded the monastery within the 
great fortress. The first tomb is that of Nestor, who 
chronicled the ecclesiastical history of this period. The 
pilgrims kissed the exposed hands of the long-dead monks, 
whose bodies and faces were shrouded in silk. They 
peered into the small openings of the cells where the most 
pious of the brothers lived their span with no light but a 
candle and no air but the draught which carried down the 
long black aisle leading from the outer world. Every 
other day their food was placed before the aperture. 
The death of a monk was announced to the attendant by 
the fact that the previous two days' dole of bread and 
water remained untouched at his final coming. The hole 
was then bricked up and the cell of the living became the 
tomb of the dead. 

From one shrivelled recluse to another the pilgrims 
passed, making their devotions with scrupulous zeal. At 
the end of the catacombs they knelt in veneration of St. 



Comrades of a Revolutionist 317 

Anthony who first immured himself in this underground 
chamber of sacrifice. The bodies of other monks He in 
recesses further down the hill, but they are less highly 
reverenced. 

The odour of unwashed clothing grew oppressive and 
we turned back to the sunshine, which pained our ex- 
panded pupils. Long-haired monks were selling sacred 
trinkets; peasants were passing dutifully from one shrine 
to the next, and finding their way to the sacristy to 
stand awestruck before its splendid robes and vessels, 
which in richness excel even those of the St. Alexander 
and Trinity Monasteries. 

The campanile near the large church is three hundred 
feet high, the second tallest in Russia, Land of Bells. 
Three men were ringing the call to service by means of 
ropes attached, not to the bells themselves, but to the 
clappers which struck tunefully against the metal sides. 
The bell-men intone a different measure for each cere- 
mony, and the Orthodox understand the message of the 
church bells as a soldier knows the bugle's call. 

Happy had been left with the luggage in care of a por- 
ter at our hotel on the busy Krestiatik, while we spent the 
night at the monastery. On our return she gave us a 
flattering welcome, ungraciously deserting the dvornik 
who had gorged her with goodies. We stopped at the 
office to inquire for the nearest book-shop, which we found 
a block away. There we asked to see photographs and 
post-cards of Kiev. The clerk set out boxes of views for 
our selection and turned to serve other customers. We 
had not been in the store ten minutes when figures in the 
doorway obscured the light, and we looked up to see a 
gorodovoy turning the key while his companions advanced 



318 Honeymooning in Russia 

and spoke gruffly to the proprietor. He threw out his 
hands in protestation and looked around at his customers. 
Instantly I was sure I knew the nature of the policeman's 
errand. It flashed upon me that word must have come 
of Roman's escape and our complicity. With each hour 
since we left Sevastopol we had felt less apprehensive as 
to our danger. Now I realised how foolhardy we had 
been to linger in the country all these unnecessary days. 
Here in Kiev we had been overtaken . . . our pun- 
ishment was about to descend. . . . Phil rose and 
stood with his hands in his pockets. The voices of the 
proprietor and the police grew more vehement. As he 
continued to remonstrate they pushed him aside and 
came towards us. Phil drew near to me. The men 
crowded about and began to hunt through the boxes of 
cards and pictures and to examine, one by one, those we 
had laid aside. They left one of their number to watch 
lest we should try to get out the bolted door, while the 
other six turned their backs to search the book-shelves. 
The owner and his clerk looked on. Suddenly they 
started forward as a self-important gendarme discovered 
a volume behind a row of books and showed its title to 
those of his inferiors who could read. The customers 
added their chatter to the tumult of voices. . . . 
Gradually we came to understand that the invasion of 
the premises had no connexion with us, but that the un- 
fortunate bookseller had gotten himself into trouble by 
stocking a forbidden volume. 

For an hour or more the searching and the talk con- 
tinued. Then the door was unlocked. We went into the 
street, crowded now with an inquisitive populace, and 



Comrades of a Revolutionist 319 

the proprietor was marched off to the police station. 
We had to go to another shop to get our pictures. 

We asked the hotel clerk if he had heard of the disturb- 



" Oh, yes, I heard of it. They found a copy of a book 
by the Englishman, Darwin." 

" ' The Origin of Species,' perhaps." 

" That was it. My neighbour, Gokchai, must have 
known that book has been proscribed by the Holy Synod. 
Now he will be fined a good sum. Perhaps another time 
he will not be so foolish." 

" Why did they look at the pictures ? " 

" To see if they could find any not permitted to be 
sold. There are many Poles here. Sometimes a shop- 
keeper is so rash as to keep in stock cards illustrating 
Polish insurrections. There is one card especially — it 
is an allegorical picture of Poland crying on the breast 
of Christ. But the Poles are so stubborn, they go right 
on buying it. You are going to Warsaw ? You will hear 
there how stubborn they are." 



IJJ Cg3 CS3 



Chapter XVII 

WARSAW AND PARIS : TWO FINALES 

JL HE young woman who shared our compartment dur- 
ing the twenty-four hours' journey to Warsaw was 
blond and pretty. Her name was Stanislasa Jaronow- 
ska. She had been visiting in Kiev and was on her way 
home preparatory to entering Cracow University. 

" One of our alumni," she told us, '* was the astron- 
omer, Nicolaus Koppernigk, who took his first degree in 
the Polish university." 

" Copernicus was a Pole ? " 

" He was born in Thorn, now a Prussian city. His 
father was a native of Cracow, also a Polish town at that 
time. His mother was Barbel Watzelrode. After fin- 
ishing at Cracow in 1494, he studied astronomy at Bo- 
logna, Padua, and Rome. Later he became a canon in 
the town of Frauenberg, and a physician. Once he was 
sent as deputy to the diet of the then Polish province of 
Grodno." 

" We pass through Thorn on our way to Paris." 

" Then you will see his memorial in the Church of St. 
John." 

We fell to talking in subdued tones of the Poles and 
her voice shook as she related stories of their wrongs. 
" Last year, those in power at Petersburgh rejected two- 
thirds of the thirty-six deputies elected to the national 
duma by Polish Russia, in order to cripple its influence. 
The nobles, also, who compose the membership of the Na- 



Warsaw and Paris: Two Finales 321 

tional League of Poland are enemies of the masses for 
whose liberation they care nothing. They are traitors 
who barter their country's happiness to obtain privileges 
which assure them comparative freedom from annoyance. 
Loyal Poles hate them for their perfidy more than they 
hate the Russians and the Jews." 

" Do the Poles ever intermarry with the Russians ? " 

" A Pole would as quickly marry a Chinaman as a Rus- 
sian. If he should so far forget his honour and self- 
respect as to marry either, he would never allow it to be 
known." 

Above us on an eminence stood the ancient town of 
Brzsce, called now Brest-Litovsk, which is at the frontier 
of the former Polish kingdom, once larger than the Ger- 
man Empire of the present time. 

It has been owned successively by warring Volhynians, 
Galicians, Lithuanians, Poles, Tatars, Teutons, Swedes, 
and Russians. The banks of the Bug were the site of a 
settlement here in 1020. After the Polish rebellion of 
1831, Russia built a fortress at the junction of the Bug 
and the Muskhovets. We crossed the river and dragged 
on at the rate of twenty miles an hour to Terespol, Biala, 
Miendzizhets past the estates of the Potockis, the Rad- 
ziwills and the Tsartoryskis to Siedlce, and so to Warsaw 
on the river Vistula. We saw Mile. Jaronowska into a 
cab and bade her good-bye until the morrow when she was 
to guide us about her native city. Jerry was not due un- 
til the next evening. 

We drove in an omnibus over a handsome bridge up a 
well-lighted street to the portals of one of the best hotels 
in Europe, the Bristol. The lobby was cheery with 
basket-chairs, tall clocks, and palms. An Otis elevator 



322 Honeymooning in Russia 

upholstered in blue, carried us to our apartment, which had 
a private hall leading to a sitting-room and an adjoin- 
ing bed-chamber. Heavy velvet and lace curtains draped 
the windows, and pink-shaded electric reading-lamps de- 
pended above a mahogany writing-table, and stood on 
the stands by each brass bed. The really luxurious suite 
was no more expensive than an uncongenial room in an 
average American hotel. 

Philip lounged on the divan while I wrote tardy letters 
during the evening, dating them " The Warsaw of Thad- 
deus." Directly opposite was a newspaper office where 
the night editor, the reporters, the printers, the office 
" devils " were rushing back and forth preparing the 
next day's Kuryer like newspapermen the world over at 
the same hour of night. A cabful of rioters went by 
under our windows. Well-dressed men and women ar' 
rived after the theatre for supper in the Bristol cafe. 
Apparently, the current of life here did not differ from 
that of any cosmopolitan city. But in dungeons under 
the river-bank, we knew there were scores of guiltless pris- 
oners waiting eternally for trial. A hundred thousand 
Russian soldiers are quartered in and near Warsaw, a 
city of a million inhabitants. Beneath the crust of every- 
day existence there is a seething fire of discontent. The 
Poles were ever a restless race, excitable, ambitious, vi- 
sionary. Their subjection to a nation inferior in culture 
and antecedents is all the more galling. 

Mile. Jaronowska came the next morning with her 
hands full of roses. In a pale grey gown and hat, she 
looked as sweet as one of her own blossoms. Her yellow 
hair was coiled in a knob at either temple, a quaint 



Warsaw and Paris: Two Finales 323 

coiffure which suited her unusual type. Her manner was 
a little diffident, but none the less winsome for that. 

The shops of Warsaw are less interesting than those 
of Moscow, but the buildings are quite surprisingly 
large and fine. We stopped on the great square in the 
centre of the city to buy tickets for the evening perform- 
ance at one of the two Government theatres which flank 
the Opera House. Then we went slowly through the old 
market-place, past the odd houses of ancient Warsaw to 
the narrow street where the thirteenth century cathedral 
stands. Memorials to Polish kings are its chief treas- 
ures. There is a tablet to the last sovereign, Poniatow- 
ski, on the wall near the door. His descendant, Prince 
Poniatowski of Paris, married a Miss Sperry of San 
Francisco. 

We lunched at a garden retreat not far from the new 
blue-roofed, cafe au lait Greek Orthodox church, at which 
the Poles scoff as poor art. The library building was 
desolated of its three hundred thousand volumes by the 
Russians who carried them off to Petersburgh in 1794 
and built on this magnificent foundation the Imperial Li- 
brary of the new capital. On the facade of the empty 
Warsaw edifice is a stone frieze showing bas relief medal- 
lions of all the Polish kings. 

" Can you not imagine our rage when we look at this 
vacant building which once held the most extensive library 
in Europe ? " said the little Polonaise. " Our archives 
have been removed from the Carmelite church to Peters- 
burgh. Our churches have, many of them, been sup- 
pressed. The university is closed because we refuse to 
forsake our own tongue to study in the despised Russian. 



324 Honeymooning in Russia 

Our most intimate feelings are outraged. It is insuf- 
ferable that we should be under subjection to a conqueror 
with practically no civilisation. For centuries the Pol- 
ani have boasted culture and refinement. In the early 
ages they were less savage than others of the Slavi. I 
cannot begin to enumerate the ways in which we are per- 
secuted — the ingeniously cruel methods by which we are 
humbled, bitterly, helplessly humbled ! " Her gentian- 
blue eyes filled with tears. " After the rebellion of '31 
the citizens of Warsaw were forced to subscribe for the 
building of the citadel, knowing it would be used against 
them in any future insurrection. We cannot lift our 
voices against Russians individually or as a nation with- 
out hazarding imprisonment. Poles filling civil positions 
are sent to distant posts: they are not permitted to serve 
in Polish Russia. We are slaves, not subjects. We have 
no rights. We are mocked and assailed." Her lips 
trembled as she clenched her hands. In her, we saw the 
impersonation of quivering Poland. 

We drove in the shade of the lime-trees out the Champs 
Elysees, bordered by mansions set in greenery, and by 
Botanical Gardens and Public Parks. At the end of the 
long avenue we turned into a wood where Cossacks stood 
guard to preserve the Tsar's domain, a palace set on a 
high terrace, with an enormous royal monogram planted 
in begonias. 

We proceeded to the fairy woods and pools of the 
Lazienki Palace, built by King Stanislas Poniatowski. 
Such old-world romance breathed from each leaf and was 
reflected in every ripple of artificial water, that we felt 
like animated Watteau figures as we sauntered past the 
stone amphitheatre, where royalty once applauded Thes- 



Warsaw and Paris: Two Finales 825 

pians acting bits of farce on an al fresco stage across a 
stream; and wandered down by-ways once trodden by 
princesses and their lovers or haunted by courtiers plan- 
ning intrigues. To dress the part, we women should 
have worn puffed sleeves and quilted skirts, while Philip, 
in wig, breeches and buckled shoes, leaned to whisper noth- 
ings as we smirked behind pink fans. 

The esplanade of the square palace is edged with or- 
ange trees and lapped by the silent pool. Our cicerone 
knew no English, and I was glad; French seemed vastly 
more in keeping with the picture. 

We took her back to the Bristol for dinner, stopping 
on the way to see the church erected in memory of Alex- 
ander II, who, following the Poles' rebellion of 1863, was 
regarded as their friend. It faces a square which was 
the scene of the fiercest struggle of the futile insurrec- 
tion. Near the hotel was the Thorwaldsen statue of 
Copernicus, which stands in another square before a 
building which once housed the suppressed Society of the 
Friends of Science, but is now a Russian school building. 
Close by we entered the Church of the Holy Cross to see 
a tablet dedicated to Chopin. 

We had left word at the hotel for Jerry that we would 
return by six o'clock. When we alighted, there was his 
hand extended to greet us. How glad we were to see the 
boy! As for him, he was, of course, jubilant as befitted 
one who hoped soon to be a bridegroom. 

We were a merry dinner company. The orchestra was 
superlatively good ; a fountain splashed in the court which 
was overhung by window-boxes. 

" Of course you know who is your landlord? " 

"No, who?" 



326 Honeymooning in Russia 

" M. Ignace Paderewski." The Mademoiselle and 
Jerry smiled at our expression. Such commercial astute- 
ness was rather overpowering to us, remembering poetic 
locks, and dreamy touch of slim pale hands. But cer- 
tainly it was a delightful monument to raise to American 
appreciation of the pianist's art 1 

" The father of the Reszke brothers was once proprie- 
tor of the Hotel Saski in Warsaw," added the Polish 
girl. She told us, too, that M. Edward had been married 
by civil authorities and had some time before petitioned 
the Tsar to recognise the union as legal, but that the re- 
sult was not known. He has three daughters, one of 
whom is an actress. 

For twelve of our United States cents a cab carried us 
to the Theatre Variete. The curtain was already up on 
an act from " The Geisha " translated into Polish — 
rather an uncanny effect. There followed scenes from 
two German light operas and the usual variegated pro- 
gramme presenting a Danish tenor, an Austrian soubrette, 
a Bulgarian dancing duo, a witty Polish monologuist, and 
a ballet which was still whirling and marching when we left 
the theatre. 

We drove our little Polonaise to her door, parting with 
mutual congratulations that a Polish- American alliance 
had so happily been formed. Then we went back to our 
rooms for a bite of supper and a chat with Jerry. 

" Do you know," he said, " I discovered after you left 
Petersburgh why you were so closely watched there and 
finally arrested." 

" We were arrested because we photographed the navy 
yard; what other reason could there have been? " 

" Just the question Prince K. asked the chief that 



Warsaw and Paris: Two Finales 327 

night. He answered that Phil's connexion with the Con- 
solidated Steel was known to the Russian Consulate in 
London where you had your passport vised. They cabled 
Secret Service headquarters that you might be coming to 
Petersburgh to get information about a new steel process 
the navy has been trying out. One of their spies — that 
cabman — overheard something Joyce said in the Peter 
the Great church which confirmed in them the idea that you 
were perhaps spies for the United States Government, 
especially as you had been seen going about London with 
our naval attache." 

" Why, we had a letter to him ! Steel manufacture was 
never mentioned." 

" Which has little to do with the case. The dominating 
trait of the Russian is suspicion. There were fifteen 
thousand suspected persons sent out of the capital last 
year. They imagine, especially in the country, that 
strangers are political or religious spies. You were in 
luck not to have had any further trouble during your 
jaunts." 

" Someday, we'll tell you a story, Gerard, my boy 
. not here . . . not now," as he looked ex- 
pectant, " but sometime when we meet outside the Tsar's 
dominions. We don't know the climax yet, but we shall 
soon. . . . Have you seen Mile. Marie lately? " 

" Oh, by Jove ! I had forgotten to tell you, and now 
that I've remembered — I hate to. I know how sorry 
you'll be. She was taken with her friend for spreading 
revolutionary propaganda near Vitebsk. They are in gaol 
there, and no one knows when they'll get out. Of course 
their fathers' position may save them. Chin, or rank, is 
almost everything in Russia. Still, the offence is very 



328 Honeymooning in Russia 

grave from the Government's viewpoint. All her friends 
are much worried." 

" Our little Marie ! It can't be possible they will de- 
port her ! " 

" I am afraid it is quite possible. At any rate she'll 
be held in an awful provincial prison for weeks. That's 
bad enough." 

I was reminded of the story of the Kharkov student. 

" And the worst of it is that such experiences are not 
at all unusual," he replied. " The Government expends 
its venom against just that class, the e intelligentzia,' the 
only really worthy stratum of Russian society." 

" What about Marie's fiance? " inquired Phil. " They 
were to be married soon, she said." 

Jerry smoked his cigar in short puffs, staring out the 
window a moment before he answered : " I don't suppose 
you'll believe it. He seemed like a decent fellow to me, 
and tremendously in love . . . but he has broken the 
engagement on the ground that his sweetheart is — a 
traitor. Of course he knew nothing of her revolutionary 
ideas. It was rather a shock to him." 

" The presumptuous cad ! " 

" He thinks he is proving his loyalty to his Emperor." 

I was too moved to speak. Marie in prison, and jilted 
by the one she loved ! Little dark-eyed Marie ! I recalled 
her adorably shy expression in the Nevsky shop when she 
had told me of her wedding plans. Before going to bed, 
I wrote her a letter, addressed to the Vitebsk prison. 
When we were out of Russia I mailed it, though I could 
not be sure that it would ever reach her. 

Early the next morning we went to meet Mrs. Hazard 
and Cicely. Of course they had no inkling of our pres- 



Warsaw and Paris: Two Finales 329 

ence in Warsaw. We stood back until Jerry had wel- 
comed them; then stepped from behind a post. The joy- 
ous little shrieks which followed attracted the amused 
glances of the crowd as Cicely flung herself upon me, 
and we embraced and kissed and embraced again. Her 
betrothed looked on jealously. We left her to him for the 
return drive while we took Mrs. Hazard in with us. Ar- 
rived at the hotel, Philip left us to order a luncheon suit- 
able to the occasion, while we went up to the suite Jerry 
had engaged for his guests. It was a half -hour before 
Cicely came with a radiant Jerry behind her. He nodded 
meaningly at me, and drew me to the window while the 
daughter pleaded of the mother with flushed cheeks, and 
downcast eyes. " She will," he whispered. " Now for her 
mater's consent ! " 

" Don't worry, she couldn't resist so ardent a would-be 
son-in-law." And I was right. 

" Well, children — " said the little woman, rising with 
Cicely's hand in hers. 

Jerry crossed to meet them, kissing Cicely and then 
Mrs. Hazard, as he said manfully, " I can't thank you 
enough. I've been so lonely without her. You must come 
with us though." 

" No, Jerry boy, you're good to ask it, but I was once 
a bride — I know ! " She laughed a wise mother-laugh. 
" My sister is in Vienna. She'll be delighted to have com- 
pany. Perhaps during the winter, we'll come to visit my 
daughter, Mrs. Drake." She smiled up at the big fellow, 
with his arm around his brown-haired sweetheart. " I 
only wish Cicely's father could have lived to know his 
daughter's happiness." She put her handkerchief quickly 
to her eyes. 



330 Honeymooning in Russia 

" Now, motherkin, if you are going to cry I shan't leave 
you a minute." 

" But I am not — when is it to be ? " 

" This afternoon," I responded promptly. " We must 
hurry on to Paris, and Jerry has already engaged us as 
wedding attendants." 

" Before I said I would marry him to-day ! " Cicely 
pinched his arm. 

" He knew you couldn't refuse anyone so deserving," 
Phil had returned from below. " Why, even the minister 
is partly ordered. You'll have to be married in German 
for the only available Protestant minister is a Lutheran. 
We telephoned him last night to pre-empt his services." 

To which Cicely retorted roguishly : " Jerry could 
hardly have had a better tutor to instruct him in ' How to 
Marry in Haste.' " 

" And ' re- Joyce ' at leisure? Come, jena, three is com- 
pany, five's a crowd. Leave the Drake with his little duck." 

" Mother Goose will withdraw also," laughed Mrs. 
Hazard, turning to the door of her bedroom. " I must 
unpack a wedding-gown for my daughter." 

Mademoiselle Jaronowska had recommended some late 
Polish songs, so we went shopping for them and for a 
wedding-present. Remembering our bride's penchant for 
antiques, we forswore the smart shops of the Theatre 
Square for a row of mediaeval buildings not far from the 
statue of Mieckewiecz, the Polish Puschkin. We found 
in a curiosity shop a bracelet of gold scroll-work which 
bore in Polish a legend set in tiny blue stones. The pro- 
prietor translated the sentiment for us, and we repeated 
it to Cicely as we clasped the band about her wrist: 
" How much the wife is dearer than the bride." She wore 



Warsaw and Paris: Two Finales 331 

Jerry's pearl necklet around the collar of her white dress, 
and in her hair was a spray of camellia buds. Her bou- 
quet of camellias and white roses lay at her hand as we ate 
the wedding luncheon served in the Hazard's sitting-room. 
Like our own, it preceded the nuptials. 

Before we were quite done, the minister came. Sud- 
denly grave, we left our feasting and stood quietly while 
he read the service, and pronounced the words which made 
the two one. " To think you should be here to see me 
married in Warsaw ! " whispered Cicely, as she laid her 
cheek to mine. 

The waiter came with the ices and the pastry. We 
pressed the kindly pastor to sit with us, but he excused 
himself in his best manner, as Jerry followed him to the 
elevator to slip something into his hand. 

Until train-time we lingered at the bridal board. 
" Where are you going on your tour d' amour ? " Philip 
wanted to know. 

" To the most romantic town in Europe." 

"Which is?" 

" Old Cracow, or Cracovie, over the border." 

" The Galician city Mile. Jaronowska described as so 
captivating. It is still the Mecca of the Poles, even 
though it is owned now by Austria. I envy you." 

" Come too . . . " 

"We would if—" 

Philip, rousing from a moment's abstraction, warned me 
with a glance, as he stood up, glass in hand. " Lady and 
gentleman! In New York Town I chose my mate, in 
Warsaw saw you marry. Now you are off to Cracovie, 
while we go on to Paree. Long live the young Drakes ! " 

" And the young Houghtons ! " 



332 Honeymooning in Russia 

" And Madame — " 

" A Hazard happily negotiated ! " 

When we went downstairs we found the frolicsome pair 
had tied white ribbons on our trunks, and at the Berlin- 
Warsaw depot they waggishly flung rice and rose petals, 
thus deceitfully proclaiming us as the newest bride and 
groom. They laughed at our impotence while our fellow- 
travellers smiled knowingly, as a handful of rice snapped 
on the car window. " Wait till you come to London ! " 
menaced Philip, putting out his head. 

"A pleasant honeymoon! Can you catch?" twitted 
Cicely, throwing him a flower which he fastened in Happy's 
collar. 

" Just you wait, you scamps ! " I repeated, as the train 
pulled out. 

A passenger on the seat opposite was relating to a young 
man who sat beside him an incident which had occurred 
during the day at his factory. Two of his men had been 
shot for suspected treason to the Polish Revolutionists. 
Their bodies had been removed and the work had gone on 
as usual. " If I had shown any sympathy, I should prob- 
ably have been killed, too." 

" What are we coming to ? " 

" The commercial situation is almost as bad as the po- 
litical. But, of course, it is much worse in Russia proper." 

" The Russian workman is a spoiled argiculturist." 

" In summer lots of factories have to close for lack of 
employes. During good harvests especially, the mills 
can't operate, though it is just those years when the out- 
put is less that the muzhiks have more money to 
spend. ..." 

" And so it goes to buy foreign goods even more ex- 



Warsaw and Paris: Two Finales 333 

pensive than the home product, because of the high duty." 
" A good harvest makes little difference. The more 

money the people have, the more back taxes they must pay. 

They can never rise above a certain plane of poverty no 

matter how they try." 

" If they could pay their taxes in grain it would help, 

but the Government demands ready money, so the farmers 

have to sell to dishonest middlemen for what they can get. 

By the time they have saved a fourth of their crop for next 

year's sowing, there is little enough left them to eat. With 

the muzhik it is: 

"'The sheep I tend another owns; 
He takes the flesh and I, the bones. 
The wool a million shuttles bear 
Weaves not for me a coat to wear.' " 

" Fortunately for Poland, our people care more for 
manufacturing than for agriculture. See how Lodz has 
thriven even in this oppressed country." The speaker 
pushed back the door and looked out. " One can't tell who 
might be listening." 

" I am glad to be getting away." 

" Where do you go ? " 

" To business school in Antwerp. My sister has al- 
ready left for Zurich. We Poles can't get an education 
in our own country any more." 

" I know it. My daughter was forbidden to open her 
private school at Plotsk where I live. Last year she taught 
the children a little Polish history and it was reported to 
the police." 

" I wonder why there are so many soldiers on guard at 
the stations." 



S34 Honeymooning in Russia 

" The bandits are at it again, robbing and killing." 

" Well, at least there is a chance that highwaymen will 
be caught and punished. That's more than one can hope 
for official thieves." 

An array of German and Russian gendarmes came 
aboard the train at Alexandrowo to examine baggage, 
passports, and permits to leave the country. For the lat- 
ter, we paid forty-five cents. The customs' stamps were 
affixed. At the last moment our passport was returned. 
We exchanged our Russian train crew for German; the 
train flew ahead at a faster rate and crossed the little river 
which marks the frontier. . . . Gigantic, gorgeous, 
groaning Russia lay behind us. 

We spent the night at Thorn, the first Prussian town 
over the border. We passed another Thorwaldsen Coper- 
nican memorial on our way to the old Cathedral of St. 
John. A wall tablet shows a painting of the astronomer 
and below it the inscription in old Latin : 

Nicolao Copernico Toruniensi absolutae subtilitatis mathemati- 
cone tanti viri aoud exteros celeber: In sua patria periret memoria 
hoc monume: positu: mor: warmiae in suo canonicatu 1543. Aeta 
LXXIII. 

Quern cernis vivo retinet Copernicus ore cui decus eximium forma 
perfecit imago os rubeum pulchrique oculi pulchrique capilli cul- 
taque appelleas imitantia membra figuras ilium scrutanti similem 
similimque docenti aspiceres qualis fuerat cum sydera jussit et 
caelum constare loco terramque rotar finxit et in medio mundi 
tytana locavit D. O. M. Atque in ampliorem tanti viri 

gloriam ortulit et dedicavit idem qui restauravit. 

Underneath, stands a bust set on a marble pedestal 
erected in 1766. 

About noon of the next day we were at the door of the 



Warsaw and Paris: Two Finales 335 

little Hotel du Rhone, on the rue Jean Jacques Rousseau 
which ends in the square behind the Magasin du Louvre. 

" I am almost afraid to enter." 

" So am I. Wait a moment." That word " suppos- 
ing " — how it tantalised ! 

A servant came towards us. " Will you ask, please, if 
there is someone here, a Russian called Petrovsky? " 
Philip spelled the name. The man went to find the con- 
cierge, who came out of her little room on the left. 

" No, Monsieur, we have no guest called Petrovsky." 

" Nor one named Marilov, a lady? " She shook her 
head. We gazed in despair. Neither had come . 
Petrovsky had been taken before he left the steamer. 
And Liuba? Had the telegram been intercepted 

— was she still waiting at Shulov? "You are sure there 
are no Russians here ? " 

" Pardon, Madame, I said only there was no Russian 
named Petrovsky." 

" Then there are some others ? " as our spirits rose. 

"There is a gentleman; he has just gone up to his 
room. Charles, ask the lodger in room 29 if he will have 
the kindness to descend." Phil handed the porter his card. 
We waited ... we heard steps . . . the guest 
in number 29 was coming along the upper hall. Phil 
started half-way up the stairs, but it was not Petrovsky 
who faced him. "I — I beg pardon — " 

" He is not the gentleman you wished to see ? " queried 
the concierge. 

" No, but if he is a Russian perhaps he could tell us — " 

" Ah, I have thought — there is another. He has a wife 

— such a pretty young woman with so charming a smile. 

Run, Charles, look in the reading-room. 



336 Honeymooning in Russia 

No? They are not there . . . then, perhaps — " 
She looked at the clock. " One o'clock less twenty-five 
minutes. I know! They would be at the dejeuner a la 
fourchette." 

" Where is the dining-room ? " 

" There to the right, Monsieur." I followed my hus- 
band, with my heart beating faster at every step. We 
opened the door. At the end of the room sat the exile 
and his bride. We stole towards them. Petrovsky raised 
his eyes. " Liuba," he said with joyous emphasis, "our 
friends — they have come ! " 

The waiter ran for two more covers. Over the lunch- 
table we heard their story. Liuba had left under pretext 
of being summoned to supervise some work. Roman's 
path had been unobstructed. When he arrived at the 
hotel of M. Couturat, their trysting-place, his fiancee was 
already here to meet and marry him. " Can you conceive 
our happiness ? " she asked. 

" But you don't know how anxious we were when no 
despatch came to Sevastopol." 

" I did not dare send one," said our friend. " On the 
quay at Constantinople was a detective I knew well. If 
he had seen me, he would have watched my movements. 
A message from me would have implicated the one ad- 
dressed." 

" Then the maid said there was no one here named Pe- 
trovsky, and we had another fright ! " 

Roman turned to his wife with a smile. " Let me in- 
troduce to you Madame Namor. At first we did not dare 
announce ourselves rightly for Michael's sake. I ex- 
plained to the proprietor. But we need fear no more for 
Michael." 



Warsaw and Paris: Two Finales 337, 

" You don't mean that he is — ? " 

" We have had a letter." 

"From Michael himself? Is he safe?" We were 
afraid to hear his answer. 

" Yes, from Michael. He is in Posen with his mother." 

This was good news indeed. " What was his plan ? 
How did he accomplish it? " we besieged in one breath. 

Petrovsky drew an envelope from his pocket. " You 
shall hear the letter. We will translate it for you." 
Liuba leaned close to look over his shoulder, her glowing 
face near his as he read in a voice now strong and full 
of life: 

K My Dear Comrade : 

At the moment I write you I sit by a window facing the cathedral 
at Posen. Last night I arrived here. I came to the door of my 
aunt's house. It was my mother who admitted me. How close I 
held her while she wept in my arms! With her, you are saying, 
6 How did it come to pass ? Tell me quickly ! ' For she knew no 
more than you what I had in my mind when I kept repeating ' I 
know a way.' So then, I will tell over again the story I told her. 
This much you know: my father deserted us before I was born. 
We never knew what became of him. My mother supported me with 
her needle until I was old enough to earn for both. The rest of the 
story I had kept to myself since the day of the pogrom of the 
Jews, six weeks ago, when the new ispravnik came to Arminsk. He 
had sent to the shop for some migraine pills which I carried to his 
room in the traktir. I knocked. No one answered. I opened the 
door. . . . The ispravnik was lying on the bed asleep. Across 
his cheek was a white scar, and the little finger of the hand which 
hung by his side was gone. I drew closer and stared down at him. 
I saw that he was not above middle height, that he had a large 
cruel mouth, that his cheek-bones were high, and that his hair grew 
low on his forehead. Softly I laid the box of pills on the stand, 
and as I did so, I saw a letter among a lot of papers. It was ad- 
dressed to Ivan Kirsanov. For a moment I stood looking at him 
and wondering what I should do. My father! And I despised him 
more than any one living! He stirred. I crept towards him as 



338 Honeymooning in Russia 

though T would strangle him. Then I thought better of it and went 
downstairs, where I said to the kupets, ' The ispravnik is asleep.' 

' He has a headache. I will pay for the medicine. Forty ko- 
peks? Better charge him more.' He laughed. 

* That is the price. Why should we ask him more? ' 

* Because he is rich. He can pay anything.' 
' Rich from bribes.' 

* I suppose so.' 

1 Well, forty kopeks is the price of the pills. We will not charge 
him more. Perhaps I shall have another account to settle with him 
some other day.' As a little boy I had never tired asking my 
mother how he looked; often she had described him. He was poor 
then. Now he was rich and a man of authority in the district. I 
said nothing. I wanted to plan how to force him to make recom- 
pense. We had moved from the town where I was born. Of course 
he knew nothing of our hiving in Arminsk. 

The afternoon I determined you should take my passport, the 
thought came to me that through him I should perhaps be able to 
escape, when you had gone. Since I first saw him I had heard that 
he was married again, and had a son in the Technical School at 
Moscow. An ispravnik is a great man, oh, yes! But even an is- 
pravnik would not find it to his advantage to have it proven that 
he had living two wives! When my mother left for Prussia I gave 
her a letter to mail to the chief of the District Police. I had writ- 
ten and rewritten it. But I had said nothing to her of its con- 
tents. She had promised to trust me and ask no questions. Lit- 
tle did she guess that she was posting a letter from her son to his 
father! 

Two days later I looked through the curtain and saw him com- 
ing down the street. I took my revolver from the drawer and went 
to meet him. He entered, looking at me with a sneer. I was not 
frightened. He had everything to lose — position, reputation, ad- 
vancement in the future. The fact that he had come as I demanded 
proved his fear of my disclosures. 

I let him go ahead as we went upstairs. ' Now what is it ? ' he 
asked, as I closed the door. 

* You are my father.' 

* So your letter said.' 

' You do not deny it. Throughout my life you have neglected my 
mother, — your wife.' 

* What proof have you that she is my wife ? ' 




Memorial to Copernicus, St. John's 
Cathedral, Thorn 



Warsaw and Paris: Two Finales 339 

' Your own consciousness is the best proof — besides, I have liv- 
ing evidence.' 

' What if I killed you — here — now — ' He took a step towards 
me. 

' Were you able to kill me, your exposure would still be inevita- 
ble. ... I have given my mother a letter to open if she does 
not hear from me in a certain time. Whether I am alive or dead, 
the world will know what you have done, unless you do as I de- 
mand.' 

'What do you want,' he said harshly, his evil eyes fixed upon me, 
* money ? ' 

'Your foul rubles? I want only safe conveyance out of the 
country. I have liberated an exile by giving him my passport. 
It will be discovered that he is gone. I shall be shot for connivance 
at a prisoner's escape. You must help me get over the line. As 
soon as it is dark to-night I will go to the forest. You will meet 
me alone and drive me to Tornak, bringing me a fictitious passport, 
properly stamped.' 

' It is impossible.' 

' Nothing is impossible for an ispravnik in his own district.' 

' When the uriadnik finds the exile gone, he will suspect I helped 
him.' 

'You are the pristav's close friend. Nothing can harm you.' 
Still he hesitated. ' Perhaps you would prefer to have it announced 
that you are a bigamist.' 

He glared at me. ' And if I give you this passport how am I to 
know you will not still — ' 

'Betray you? I have nothing to gain from exposing you when . I 
am once free. It is only your protection that is valuable to me. 
When I have no more need of that — I shall forget you.' 

His face softened. 'You will not remember me, your father?' 

I laughed. ' Did you recall that I was your son once during my 
life-time?' 

* I did not quite forget. One night I came back and looked in the 
window and saw your mother holding you on her knee, but I — I 
had gone away because I thought I — loved another woman. I was 
ashamed to face your mother after I found — ' 

' So you left us perhaps to starve.' 

' Well — Michael, I want to do something for you now.' 

' Get me a passport.' 

* I'll — See here, Michael, I'll send you to school. It's not too late. 



340 Honeymooning in Russia 

You shall have an education like — my other son. We'll make a 
chemist of you. You say you've worked in the apothecary's shop 
here. You shall learn to be a chemist, or anything you will. I am 
glad you sent for me, Michael. It's only fair that you should have a 
chance, too. Come, what do you say? What do you want me to do 
for you? ' 

' Get me a passport.' I felt as if I should strike him, mocking 
me at this late day with offers of an education so bitterly longed 
for. ' Get me a passport so I can go to my mother. That is all I 
want of you.' He put his hand on my arm, but I shook him off and 
backed against the wall. ' Get me a passport, do you hear? Bring 
me a passport to-night and I'll trouble you no more.' 

' Yes, yes, I'll get you a passport, but I — You're a fine big fellow, 
Michael; I want to do something for you besides.' 

1 There is nothing else you can do for me. Your remorse comes 
too late. For years, we have suffered and struggled — struggled 
and suffered. You gave us no thought. Now — all I ask is my free- 
dom. I need nothing more from you. And rather than accept the 
favours you speak of, I would forego my freedom.' 

He looked at me almost sadly, and yet I loathed him. He drew 
nearer and I shrank from his touch. He opened his wallet. 'Well 
then — ' he said slowly, fingering the bills, 'you are going to see 
your mother. I should like to send her — ' 

1 Not money. She would not touch it.' But he took out some 
hundred-ruble notes and tried to force them upon me. At that I 
lost my control. ' You leave my mother on the eve of my birth. 
She fights single-handed against poverty while you grow rich on 
extortion, marry another, and bring up her children in ease. After 
twenty-four years you come here under duress, and moved by some 
maudlin sentiment offer us money to satisfy your shred of a con- 
science. . . . Give it to me — I will show you what I will do 
with your money ! ' I snatched the notes from his loosened fingers 
and tore them to bits before he could restrain me. The pieces fell 
to the floor. The ispravnik trembled and put out his hand. 

'Michael, my son . . . ' he quavered. But I opened the door 
of the bedroom. ' To-night — at nine o'clock — in the forest ! ' He 
stumbled like an old man as he went down the stairs and let him- 
self out. 

The train left Tornak at midnight. It was the ispravnik of the 

District of who saw me safely on my way out of Russia — 

forever. 



Warsaw and Paris: Two Finales 341 

Here in Posen I shall soon find work. There will be no more 
massacres, no more midnight searches, no more spying, no more spec- 
tres of imprisonment and exile. In this Prussian-Polish city, affairs 
are honestly administered. The Poles are discontented, but when 
were they ever otherwise? Here one breathes air untainted by 
scandal and intrigue. I should like to see Russia's filth swept 
clean by German brooms! Many times I have thought of what you 
said that night at Arminsk — ' Russia's salvation must come from 
without.' Preach that text, my Roman; write it unceasingly; in- 
stil it into the teachings of your comrades abroad. When Russia's 
millions are liberated, your name will be among those called the 
pioneers of her freedom. 

Often we speak of you, of the one who is by now your wife, of 
the Gospodin Houghton, and the Sudarynya. We salute you all 
with affection. Michael." 



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